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I THE I 

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j SUNSHINE TRAIL 

I Verses and Pictures | 

I /. I 

I CHARLES THOMAS DUVALL I 

© I 

© I 

I Containifig: ' c 

I THE SUNSHINE TRAIL '{ 

© , I 

I FROM THE CHILDREN S PAGE t 

IN PEACE AND WAR < 




I MCMXX 

i PRIVATELY PRINTED 

I ' I 

I BALTIMORE, MARYLAND | 

© © 

© © 






Copyright, 1920, by 
Charles Thomas Duvall 



A revised and enlarged edition of the author's former volume, 
Poems and Pictures, which is now out of print. 



APR -7 ,d^0 
CLA586415 



TO MY WIFE 



THIS COLLECTION OF VERSES AND PICTURES WAS PREPARING 

FOR DEDICATION TO ONE WHO WAS FOR MANY YEARS 

MY COMRADE UPON THE SUNSHINE TRAIL; 

NOW THAT SHE HAS GONE ON THE 

LONG JOURNEY IT IS INSCRIBED 

TO HER MEMORY 




'To live in hearts we leave behind 

Is not to die." 

— Campbell 



Printed in the office of 

Norman T. A. Munder & Co 

Baltimore, Md. 



Engravings by 

Advertisers Engraving Co. 
Baltimore 

Alpha Photo-Engraving Co. 
Baltimore 




BY WAY OF PREFACE 

you, who read this printed page. 
Seek here no lofty theme or thought; 

Its author brings no message sage. 
No remedy with wisdom fraught. 

But just some rhymes in simple strain. 
Light musings with no high intent. 

Some idle songs and tales as vain. 
With wayside pictures interblent. 

The fruit of scribbling nights and days. 
Of walks in search of camera spoil. 

He gathers and before you lays — 
A record of his pleasant toil. 

And though small worth appear therein^ 
And less of real poetic power. 

It still from care your thoughts may win. 
Or serve to fill an empty hour. 




THE illustrations scattered through the pages that 
follow are chosen from a collection of pictures 
taken by the author on various walking trips about 
the suburbs of Baltimore and on brief excursions upon 
its nearby waters. While they may possess no great 
merit from an artistic view-point, they give a fairly 
adequate presentation of the beauty of scenes that are 
within easy reach of the city dweller. 




THE VERSES 



THE SUNSHINE TRAIL 

The Sunshine Trail 3 

The Walker 4 

A Summer Morning 6 

A Tried Prescription 6 

The Old Rail Fence 7 

A Sun Worshipper lo 

October Days I3 

Do You Remember, Sweetheart? 13 

A Winter Miracle IS 

Late Autumn 16 

Ballade of Rejoicing 17 

The Faithful Pine 18 

The Song of Peace 20 

Daybreak 23 

To the March Wind 23 

Gwynn's Falls 24 

A May-Time Summons 26 

A Misty Morning 26 

Dusk in the Pines 27 

The Camera 28 

The Coming of the Rain 30 

Sky Land 3° 

In the City 33 

Moon Magic 33 

The Unsleeping City 36 

Druid Hill Park 36 

Vacation Longings 37 

The Sunset Road 3^ 

In Mid-July 40 

A Summer Storm 40 

A Hustler's Wish 43 

Down the Bay 43 



THE VERSES 



THE SUNSHINE TRAIL— Continued 

Vacation Song 46 

Moonlight on the Chesapeake 46 

Ballade of Conquering 47 

Night on the Beach 48 

Pioneers 50 

At the Door 53 

Nightfall 53 

The Picture Hunter 54 

The Christmas Way 56 

The Spirit of Christmas 57 

Love in Labor 57 

New Year's Eve 58 

A Fallen Idol 59 

Ballade of Conditions 60 

Thanksgiving , 63 

The Witchery of Hallowe'en " 63 

Two Souls ... 65 

Chance 66 

Sea Ventures 66 

Puzzling ^ ... 67 

The Hills of Hope 68 

Ballade of Lost Pictures 70 

The Aviator 73 

Love's Torment 73 

The Glorious Fourth 74 

The Other Way 76 

A Declaration 76 

Ballade of the Terrible Prophet 77 

A Query 78 

The Strenuous Life 80 

A Cheer-full Soul 83 

Over-Talented 84 

What Columbus Missed 86 

Spring Song 87 

In the Fishing Season 87 

The Dollar of Our Daddies 88 

A Bout with the H. C. L. 90 

A Tailor-Made Ghost Story 93 

A Pathetic Case 96 

A Sarcastic Rooter 96 

A Job for Cupid 97 

Crushed 98 

A Last Appeal 100 

Corrected 100 

The Commuter 103 

Poor Man 103 

The Newer Independence Day 104 



THE VERSES 

THE SUNSHINE TRAIL— Continued 

Christmas Changes io6 

A Christmas Suggestion 107 

An Unkind Cut 108 

Signs of Summer I09 

Resolution no 

A Call by Wireless no 

A Warrior Bold 113 

The Reason ii3 

A Leap-Year Episode 114 

A Bad Break 116 

The New Woman 116 

A Slippery Scheme n? 

In Answer n? 

FROM THE CHILDREN'S PAGE 

Out of Date 121 

Doin' 'Rithmetic 122 

The Neglected Boy 123 

A Busy Little Man 124 

A Practical Young Lady 125 

An Artist 125 

Smoothing the Way 126 

The Circus Parade 128 

Not to Be Fooled 128 

Company Comin' 131 

The Broomstick Horse 131 

The Little Gardener 132 

The Busy Carpenter I33 

Making Sure of It i34 

Explaining His Failure i34 

Christmas Morning i3S 

Not a Success i3S 

The Noble Firemen 136 

An After-Christmas Complaint 138 

The Rock-a-Bye Train 138 

A Tale of a Valentine 141 

An Open Winter 142 

A Dreadful Shock . I43 

An Ignoramus I44 

On the Job I44 

The Winter Walk I4S 

Skating Weather I4S 

A Toy-Breaker's Dream 146 

The Snow-Man and the Sun 148 

Playing Indians 148 

When Lincoln Was a Boy iSi 



THE VERSES 

FROM THE CHILDREN'S PAGE— Continued 

The Frost Elves 152 

Imitating Brother 154 

The Gali-ant Soldiers 154 

Tellin' Time 155 

The Weather Prophet .... 155 

A Huge Joke 156 

A Freak 158 

First One In 158 

A Disgusted Patriot 161 

Most Too Real 161 

Goin' Barefoot 162 

The Goblins 164 

A Lonesome Kid 164 

Johnny Jump-up 165 

Going to the Country 166 

The Alarm Clock 167 

Song of the Snowflakes 168 

The Brave Young General 171 

Good Reasoning 171 » 

Spring Is Coming Back Again 172 

Kept In 173 

A Doubtful Story 174 

The Crow 174 

The Rabbit 175 

The Pig 175 

School Again 176 

IN PEACE AND WAR 

Run to the Hills 179 

The Destruction of the "Maine" 182 

Dewey at Manila 183 

The Voyage of the "Oregon" 186 

The Marines at Guantanamo 191 

The End of the Spanish Fleet 192 

Before Election 195 

A Passing 199 

All Fools Day 199 

After the Fire 200 

The Call of Maryland 203 

The Old Fort 204 

The Iceberg and the Ship 206 

Ever Fair Baltimore , 209 

The Bells of Christmas 210 

The Lusitania 212 

To a Certain Arrogant Monarch 213 

Enlightened 2x5 



THE VERSES 



IN PEACE AND WAR— Continued 

Our Bit 216 

O Mothers of the Land 219 

After the Armistice 219 

The King Comes to His Own Again 220 

The President's Mission 222 

Go Slow 222 

The City of Failure 223 

The Dervish's Good Counsel 230 

Entombed 233 

Outwitted 241 

John Darrell's Quest 243 

APPENDIX 

To an Old Daguerreotype 258 

The Old Schoolhouse 259 

A Retrospect .... 261 

Ballade of Striving 261 

Some Syndicate Contributions 262 





THE PICTURES 



Sunshine Land Frontispiece 

On the Sunshine Trail 2 

An Inviting Lane 4 

The Way to the Fields 5 

On the Hillen Road 8 

The Grove on the Hilltop 9" 

Across the Fair Green Hills ^ . . . . 11 

The Leaf-Strewn Stream 12 

From Shade to Sun 14 

The Close of a Winter Day 15 

Radiant Summer 18 

Winter's Soft White Mantle 19 

Bleak December 21 

In the Patapsco Valley, near Avalon 22 

The Rapids, Gwynn's Falls Park 24 

The Lone Pine 25 

The Shore Walk, Sherwood Forest 28 

A Midwinter Thaw 29 

A Scene in Sky Land 31 

On the Crownest Road, Druid Hill Park 32 

The Tents of the Corn Host 34 

A Touch of Winter 35 

The Spirit of Autumn 38 

The Deserted Mansion 39 

The Path to the Spring 41 

In Worthington Valley 42 

The Curving Shore 44 

The Reader on the Beach 45 

Gathering Clouds 48 

A Breezy Day 49 

Under the Trees, Lower End of Lake Roland 51 

Where Shadows Linger 5- 

Mountain Pass Spring, Druid Hill Park 54 

Just to Oblige the Photographer 55 



THE PICTURES 



View from Prospect Hill, Druid Hill Park S8 

Herring Run at Belair Road 59 

August Noon 6i 

The Spreading Stream 62 

The Sun-Flooded Woodland 64 

At Cedar Point, near Betterton 65 

The Glowing West 68 

Daybreak in the City 69 

The Ellicott Driveway 71 

Hazy October 72 

The Castle on the Hill 74 

When the Floodgate Is Open 75 

Driftwood Point, on the Severn 78 

Rough Going 79 

Mingled Shadows 81 

The Mill Pond 82 

The Dam in Summer 84 

The Dam in Winter 85 

Blustery Anarch 88 

A Stony Beach 89 

Avenue of Poplars, Carroll Park 91 

When the Frost Has Wrought a Silence 92 

Morning on the Potomac 94 

Evening on the Severn 95 

The Long White Way • 98 

A Roadside Monarch 99 

The Broad Waters of the Chesapeake loi 

A "Moonlight," Ocean City 102 

The Gunpowder below Loch Raven 104 

The Crest of the Hill 105 

Chattolanee Spring, Green Spring Valley 108 

Old Viaduct, near Claremont 109 

A Boulder-Strewn Watercourse m 

Old Rock Mill, Jones Falls 112 

Lake Montebello 114 

A Spring Morning on the Johnnycake Road 115 

Tramping Companions 120 

There's Room for You 122 

Crise's Spring, Druid Hill Park 123 

The Cascade 126 

In the Robber's Den 127 

When Dogwood Blooms 129 

The River Road 13° 

A Unique Footbridge 132 

Old Mill on Gwynn's Falls I33 

What's Coming Now? 136 

Stony Run, Wyman Park 137 

Gwynn's Falls, the Dam After a Storm 139 



THE PICTURES 



The Pool Below the Dam 140 

The Blue Pond, Wilkens Avenue 142 

At the Zoo 143 

A Carload of Kids 146 

An Autumn Byway 147 

The Daisy Field 149 

A Woodland Pool 150 

An Undaunted "Hiker" 152 

When Fields Are White 153 

The Village Street, Hillsdale 156 

The Tunnel Bridge, Ilchester 157 

Sunrise on the Sassafras 159 

Reflected Beauty 160 

The Explorers 162 

A Glimpse of the Big Arches, Pa. R. R. 163 

Pigs Is Pigs 166 

An Aristocratic Brood 167 

The Meeting of the Waters 169 

Clifton, the Old Home of Johns Hopkins 170 

Early Spring in Druid Hill Park 172- 

Western Run at Mt. Washington .^ . . . . 173 

In Times of Peace 178 

The Hillside Walk. Gwynn's Falls Park 180 

Old Carroll Mansion, Wyman Park 181 

The Long Shadows 184 

An April Overflow 185 

Currentless Waters 187 

The Island in the Boat Lake, Druid Hill Park 188 

Grateful Shade 190 

The Chestnut Grove 191 

On the Shore of the Patapsco 194 

Mount Clare, Carroll Park 195 

Giant-Rock Near Hollofield . 197 

A Glimpse of Bear Creek 198 

The City by Night, from Federal Hill Park 200 

Washington Monument 201 

The Observatory, Patterson Park 204 

Looking Down the River from Fort McHenry 205 

Deepdene Road, Roland Park 207 

Key Monument, Eutaw Place . 208 

A Wintry Outlook 210 

When Snowdrifts Hide Familiar Paths 211 

Along the Northern Central 214 

The City in War Paint 215 

A Turn in the Stream 217 

'TwixT Sea and Sky 218 

The Lake, Patterson Park 220 

Edge of the Winter Woods 221 



THE PICTURES 



The Foam Line 224 

Launching the Fishing Boat 225 

Demolishing the Old Custom House 227 

All Saints Church, Reisterstown 228 

Battle Monument 230 

Old Water Wheel on the Winans Estate 231 

A Natural Mirror . . .. " . 234 

The Cattail Swamp 235 

Old Relay Station, B. & O. R. R. 237 

The Thomas Viaduct Across the Patapsco 238 

On the Annapolis Road 240 

GiLMAN Hall, Johns Hopkins University 241 

High Trestle at Oakleigh, Md. & Pa. R. R. 244 

The Distant City, from Lake Ashburton 245 

The Gunpowder at Hartford Road 247 

Jones Falls at Woodberry 248 

Through Stony Ways 250 

Pleasant Pastures 251 




THE 
SUNSHINE TRAIL 




AND NOW LOOK PLEASANT, PLEASE 



G®eGe<3<S<2XSe®5<jX»!®®3®3)®®<33®®®Q®CS®S®3®C5^X2®®®^ 




ON THE SUNSHINE TRAIL 




THE SUNSHINE TRAIL 

Ho, comrade! lay aside your cares, 

We'll take a holiday; 
All out-of-doors a glory wears 

As bright as though 'twere May. 
Hark! you may hear the call of Spring 

Above the singing gale; 
It says as plain as any thing, 

"Come, hit the sunshine trail!" 

What care we for the almanack 
That makes it Winter still, 

When robins in the fields are back 
And snow has left the hill? 

I saw a bluebird yesterday, 
A sign that cannot fail; 

The days of gloom have passed away- 
Come, hit the sunshine trail! 

New life is mounting in the trees 

And stirring in the mold- 
Does it not waken memories 

Of joys we've known of old? 
Of times when we our steps have set 

A down some sheltered vale 
To seek the year's first violet? 

Come, hit the sunshine trail! 




AN INVITING LANE 



THE WALKER 



Earth's purest joys to him belong 
Who loves to walk by lane and road, 

Who seeks with eager steps and strong 
The paths to Nature's blest abode. 

His is the breeze upon the hill, 

And his the fragrance of the glade; 

He moves to music of the rill, 

And fares serene through sun and shade. 

A thousand birds make song for him, 
A thousand blossoms cheer his sight; 



THE WALKER 

Nor shall the years their beauty dim, 
Or dull the zest of his delight. 

Each ordered season, in its turn. 

Shall weave new spells to charm his sense; 
No venturous journey but shall earn 

His toil abundant recompense. 

For more than store of worldly goods 

He counts the wealth that round him lies; 

The riches of the fields and woods, 
The matchless glory of the skies. 

These will a sure possession be. 

Whatever changes Time may bring; 

A fair estate to hold in fee. 

From which content shall ever spring. 




THE WAY TO THE FIELDS 



A SUMMER MORNING 

Oh, the glory of the morning is illumining the hills! 
It is streaming down the valley, it is dancing on the rills; 
All the meadow is a-shimmer, every grass-blade holds a gem. 
And each dewy flower-cluster wears a sparkling diadem. 

Bird to bird is blithely calling, all the air is filled with song. 
Here a twitter, there a whistle, now a chorus full and strong; 
Joyous chatter in the thicket, soaring gladness in the tree, 
Every leafy covert's tenant adds a note of melody. 

Where'er we look there's life and motion, leaves are stirring in 

the breeze. 
Clover tops are being plundered by marauding bumble-bees; 
Butterflies are skyward winging in a hundred gorgeous hues; 
Or from sweet to sweet are fluttering, uncertain where to choose. 

Perfume from unnumbered flowers steals upon our raptured 

sense. 
Every field's a mass of color, every grove some bloom presents. 
And each blossom lifts its petals to the kisses of the sun. 
And the whole bright world rejoices in the long glad day begun. 



A TRIED PRESCRIPTION 

Go, where the gracious Summer weaves 
Some lofty canopy of leaves. 

And on the greensward's mossy breast 
Forget the cares that vex your rest. 

Stretch out beneath the kindly trees 
And bare your forehead to the breeze. 

Gaze on the blue deep of the sky. 
Where fleets of laden cloud-ships ply; 



A TRIED PRESCRIPTION 

Or watch the shadows drift across 
Wind-rippled fields where daisies toss. 

Drink in the fragrant air that blows 
From banks where honeysuckle grows. 

IJst to the brook's soft monotone 
Till exiled Peace resumes her throne. 

Yield your tired being's every sense 
To Nature's healing influence; 

And wholly cured, you sha'l depart 
With quiet nerves and tranquil heart. 

Rejoicing in your blessing still, 
Repeat as often as you will, 

And like Antaeus find new birth 
In each touch of your mother earth. 



THE OLD RAIL FENCE 

An old rail fence! What visions bright 
It brings before my inner sight! 
Along its quaint zigzagging way 
I wander back to boyhood's day. 
Again I see the spreading farm 
Restored in all its olden charm: 
The house half hidden by the trees. 
The garden with its blooms and bees, 
The lean-to woodshed and the well, 
The orchard sloping to the dell, 
The barn, the fields, the chestnuts tall. 
The old rail fence surrounding all. 



7 



THE OLD RAIL FENCE 

Unchanged by time, I see it there, 

Its crooked rails a thoroughfare 

For roving squirrel and chipmunk shy. 

Or striped lizard, quick and sly; 

A perch where bluebirds came to sing 

Their carols to returning Spring; 




ON THE HILLEN ROAU 



Where spiders stretched their lace-work fine. 

With dew-drop jewels all a-shine; 

Whose sheltering angles yearly knew 

The finest berry-vines that grew; 

And creepers hung a flowery screen 

Or wreathed its tallest stake with green. 



THE OLD RAIL FENCE 

So real to fancy it appears 

I almost doubt the vanished years 

Since last I left its peaceful life 

To enter in the city strife, 

But dimming eyes and graying hair 

And heart ofttimes oppressed by care 




THE GROVE ON THE HILLTOP 



Tell me the stern, unpleasant truth. 
That I am far removed from youth, 
And bound by other scenes and ties, 
While boyhood's home in ruin lies. 
And save in dreams I may not know 
That old rail fence of long ago. 



A SUN WORSHIPPER 

This thing I know: Far down the years 

Some old progenitor of mine 
Told to the sun his hopes and fears 

And bowed him at that glowing shrine. 

Else why would I of later days, 

Who count such heathen worship shame. 
Thrill to the day-god's quickening rays 

In every fiber of my frame? 

When with revivifying beam 

He wakes the sleeping life of Spring, 

I follow far his luring gleam 

And with all nature praise and sing. 

When to his wooing Summer yields 
And decks herself in leafy pride, 

I seek the radiance-flooded fields 
And lave me in his shining tide. 

When Autumn feels his milder fire 
And blushes on her hundred hills, 

I long to join his migrant choir 

Whose parting song the woodland fills. 

And when on Winter chill and white 
He flashes from the distant skies, 

I revel in his cheery light 

That warm upon the valley lies. 

And this shall be my joy, I trust. 
Till light and life alike be past; 

Then let the winds disperse my dust 
To mingle with his beams at last. 



lO 




ACROSS THE FAIR GREEN HILLS 



II 




THE LEAF-STREWN STREAM 



12 



OCTOBER DAYS 

October's on the Autumn hills! 

The earth is all aglow! 
The gorgeous woods! the shining rills! 

It is a splendid show! 

The fields are everywhere alight 

With flaming golden-rod, 
And asters blue and daisies white 

Bedeck the meadow sod. 

The air is like a breath of Spring, 
Blown back from vanished days, 

To set our feet to wandering 
Adown the leaf-strewn ways. 

So deeply blue the sky and clear, 
The lingering birds a-tune, 

Did we not know the time o' year 
We would believe it June. 

'Tis as though Nature, to requite 
For coming Winter's rime, 

Restored awhile for our delight 
The radiant Summer's prime. 



DO YOU REMEMBER, SWEETHEART? 

Do you remember, sweetheart. 

The Summer days gone by. 
When earth was in her rarest mood 

And glory filled the sky.'' 
The fields were all a-blossom then, 

The woods with birds were gay. 
And every brook made melody 

Along our sunny way. 



13 



DO YOU REMEMBER, SWEETHEART? 

Do you remember, sweetheart. 

The happy hours we spent 
Upon the hillside's grassy slope 

Beneath the oak's green tent? 
The stream ran sparkling far below 

Its curving banks between, 
And vagrant cloud shapes drifted by 

Across the blue serene. 

Do you remember, sweetheart. 

The pathway through the glade— 
The leafy aisles that led our feet 

To cloistered nooks of shade? 
The fallen tree where oft we sat 

Has mingled with the mold, 
Yet must your true heart cherish still 

Those blissful days of old. 



—J— — wpv — : z 




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FROM SHADE TO SUN 



14 




THE CLOSE OF A WINTER DAY 

A WINTER MIRACLE 

We walked the fields at set of sun, 

What time grim Winter kept his state, 

And thought eyes ne'er had looked upon 
A world more bleak or desolate. 

Black limbed and gaunt against the west 
The leafless woodland reared its head, 

And all above earth's frozen breast 
But late in bloom lay gray and dead. 

From out the north, portending storm. 
Vast cloud-shapes blotted out the day; 

We turned and sought our chamber warm 
And shut the dreary scene away. 

We rose at dawn and stood o'erawed 
Before the splendor of the sight; 

A noiseless host had been abroad 
And wrought a wonder in the night. 



IS 



A WINTER MIRACLE 

O'er withered field and barren glade 
The snow a spotless veil had flung; 

To every bough and bush and blade 
The fleecy flakes had caught and clung. 

Familiar vistas through the wood 

The vision strove in vain to trace; 
The trees in misty whiteness stood 

That blurred all sense of form or space. 

The willows wore a hoary crown, 
And e'en the boulders in the stream 

Were cushioned o'er with softest down 

Where frost elves well might couch and dream. 

O gracious Power, that gives so much! 

Who would have dreamed a scene so bare, 
Beneath His love's transforming touch. 

Could thus become so heavenly fair? 



LATE AUTUMN 

With banners drooping in the frosty air. 

The ragged remnant of the hosts of corn 

Make their last stand upon the hillside torn 
They summer long defended with unbroken square; 
The robber crow, sore pressed to find his fare. 

Calls mournfully about the fields forlorn; 

The golden-rod, of all its glory shorn, 
Lies prostrate by the footpath winding bare. 
Sport of the wind, the milkweed's downy store 

Is scattered 'mid the branches of the hedge, 
Like the first heralds sent by Winter hoar. 

Who, wrapped in cloud, bides on the valley's edge, 
Whence his invading troop ere long will pour 

In storming ranks across the frozen sedge. 

i6 



BALLADE OF REJOICING 

Though lusty Winter storms amain 

Against the walls of our retreat, 
Though frequent falls the chilling rain 

And masks the dreary world in sleet; 

Though mists enfold us, dense, complete, 
x^nd skies ne'er show a rift of blue. 

Still sings my heart with rapture meet, 
'"Tis always Summer, dear, with you." 

Though unseen hands across the pane 

Stretch night by night a frosty sheet. 
Though brooklets bear an icy chain 

And flow no more in ripples fleet; 

Though never comes our ears to greet 
One note of all the birds we knew, 

Still to the strain my pulses beat, 
'"Tis always Summer, dear, with you." 

Though snowdrifts fill the field and lane 

And hide the paths where passed our feet. 
Though loud the mourning woods complain 

For their late leafy pomp and sweet; 

Though ne'er the sun with kindly heat 
The barren branches sparkles through. 

Yet must my joyful tongue repeat, 
'"Tis always Rummer, dear, with you." 

Envoy 

Love, thus would I the season greet. 
Though Nature wears a sombre hue; 

This makes my life with bliss replete, 
'"Tis always Summer, dear, with you." 



17 



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RADIANT SUMMER 



THE FAITHFUL PINE 



When vanquished Summer struck her tent 
And from the fields dejected went, 
Dropped her green banners one by one 
To follow the retreating sun, 
I but the higher raised my crest 
And faced with an undaunted breast 
The forces evermore at strife 
With earth's aspiring verdant life. 

When harried by the driving blast 
The leafy hosts of Autumn passed 
Till all the wood was gray and bare 
And naught of bloom showed anywhere, 
I to the breeze my green boughs tossed 
And shook defiance at the frost, 
And faithful to my duty still 
Upheld alone the windy hill. 



THE FAITHFUL PINE 

When Winter came in icy mail 
My fadeless stronghold to assail, 
I bore unawed each bitter blow; 
The stinging hail, the massing snow, 
The piercing lances of the rain. 
Smote my unyielding sides in vain; 
And towering in my plumes of green 
I triumphed o'er the stormy scene. 

When Spring, reluctant, half afraid, 
Returned to ruined field and glade. 
She saw my bright, unconquered hue 
And sent her legions forth anew; 
And soon her standards fluttered free 
From every barren bush and tree, 
Till all my living color wore — 
And Summer ruled the land once more. 




^ iia 1 1 II " 

winter's soft white mantle 



19 



THE SONG OF PEACE 

Christmas, 1912 

The song that filled Judea's plain 

That starry night of old, 
When angels sang the wondrous strain, 

Adown the years has rolled; 
And strong and clear today as when 

The world first felt its thrill. 
Above the clash of heedless men 

It rings and echoes still. 

Though oft the din of savage war 

Has whelmed the joyful sound, 
And zealot hate with rabid roar 

As oft in discord drowned; 
Yet through the centuries of wrong 

Love has preserved each word, 
And Faith has seen the angel throng. 

And listening Hope has heard. 

And earth at last, by strife o'erwrought, 

Looks to a milder sway, 
As men, by larger wisdom taught. 

Would lay the sword away; 
While gentle hearts and kind rejoice 

And Bethlehem's song repeat. 
And nations, barkening to the voice, 

Have found its music sweet. 

And as the years bring round the feast 
That woke the blest refrain, 

May the glad chorus be increased 
- Till Peace supreme shall reign! 

Till every land and every tongue. 
Released from martial woe. 

Shall join the song by angels sung 
That Christmas long ago! 




21 




22 



DAYBREAK 

At last Night's dusky barrier falls 
And Day looks forth, a shape of fire. 

Across the city's misty walls 

And sets his mark on roof and spire. 

Wherever brooding gloom remains 
He thrusts a spear of crimson light. 

And unsuspected domes and vanes 
Flash up like jewels on the sight. 

Adown the silent lanes of brick 

The radiance of his presence streams. 

And all the sleeping world grows quick 
At touch of his reviving beams. 

The varied sounds of toil and strife 
That darkness stilled a little space 

Start straightway into noisy life 

And with the brightness swell apace. 

While slow, serene, he takes his way 
Up the blue pathway of the sky; 

Haste we and labor as we may. 
The golden hour is passing by. 



TO THE MARCH WIND 

Blow, wind of March, blow strong and shrill, 
Blow out the Winter's cold and gloom. 

Blow out the frosts that blight and kill; 
Blow in the time of bud and bloom! 

Blow in the cycle of the flowers, 
Blow in the winged hosts of song; 

Blow out the tedious, barren hours; 
Blow in the sunny days and long! 



23 




THE RAPIDS, GWYNn's FALLS PARK 

GWYNN'S FALLS 

Dear loved stream, still winding down 
Through crowding hills a devious way, 

Give me to bring your charms renown 
And lend your music to my lay. 

Through sun and shade, by height and plain, 
With many a carven curve and bend. 

You hasten downward to the main 

Wherein your troubled course must end. 

Now rushing o'er a rocky ledge. 

Now resting in a quiet pool, 
Now creeping through the waving sedge. 

You keep no law and own no rule. 

And changing with your changeful flow, 
I hear your voice's varying tones. 

Here through smooth reaches singing low. 
There raging at impeding stones. 



24 



GWYNN'S FALLS 

The beeches spread their roots and drink 
The grateful coolness of your wave, 

And drooping willows at the brink 
Their branches in your waters lave. 

The while you glide with swelling strength, 
Upgathered from a hundred rills. 

Till in the river's flood at length 
Your tide its destiny fulfills. 

So take my song, old friend, though weak 
And poor the tribute that I bring; 

May it tempt kindred souls to seek 
The beauty that I fain would sing. 




THE LONE PINE 



A MAY-TIME SUMMONS 

I have seen the trusty heralds, I have read the high decree, 

I have heard the spirit-stirring call of May, 
And I soon shall rise and follow, follow over hill and lea. 

For whoever gets the summons must obey. 

I shall go by leafy byways, I shall tread the open road, 
I shall track the morning fields agleam with dew; 

I shall catch the earthy odors of the gardens freshly sowed 
And a hundred known delights I shall renew. 

I shall walk 'neath skies of beauty, I shall rest in groves of 
song, 
Joy and cheer shall be my portion as I fare; 
Down the lanes of arching branches where the shadows linger 
long 
I shall journey, lost to time and free from care. 

I shall pass by spreading orchards with their miracles of bloom, 

I shall loiter where the laughing waters run; 
I shall cross the breezy upland where the pine-tree lifts its 
plume 

And shall wander, wander on from sun to sun. 



A MISTY MORNING 

The morning mist lies thick and dank 

Around us everywhere. 
And all the world is white and blank 

That spread at sunset fair. 

Gone is the meadow's every sign, 

Alike the orchard trees; 
E'en the old fence's zigzag line 

One rather knows than sees. 



26 



A MISTY MORNING 

Familiar forms and shapes of green 

Beyond the garden's rim 
Loom through the vapor's baffling screen 

Uncertain, strange and dim. 

Adown the road a phantom team 

Plods slowly into sight; 
A moment shows as in a dream 

And then is hidden quite. 

No matin song from hill or dell 

Betrays the feathered choir; 
Far and subdued a ghostly bell 

Chimes from an unseen spire. 

Save this there is no sight or sound 

About the landscape dun, 
But all in hushed expectance bound 

Awaits the wind and sun. 



DUSK IN THE PINES 

The last bright beams of the departing day 

Bathe the tall pine tops in their dying glow, 

And bar with light the shadowed trunks below, 
Where'er the clustered boughs let in a ray; 
The plume-like branches in the breezes sway 

And wake a sound as of old ocean's flow; 

The pillared aisles more vague and gloomy grow. 
As slow the golden west fades into gray. 
The bird-songs falter, and the night's first star 

Sets its pale lamp against the darkening blue; 
The winds sink to a murmur faint and far. 

And all the grove with fragrance fills anew; 
No boisterous sounds or rude arise to mar 

Earth's peaceful pause between the sun and dew. 







THE SHORE WALK 
AT SHERWOOD FOREST ON THE SEVERN 



THE CAMERA 

My eye takes in a thousand things: 

The bough that sways, the vine that clings, 

The blossom lifting to the sun, 

The streamlet where the ripples run. 

The torrent pouring o'er the ledge. 

The lily at the mill-pond's edge. 

The kine knee-deep in waters cool, 

The shadow in the glassy pool. 

The outspread valley's blooming miles, 

The shady woodland's sun-flecked aisles. 

The bending rushes by the brook. 



28 



THE CAMERA 

The wind-swept river's wrinkled look, 

The foam-line of the breaking seas, 

The white sails swelling with the breeze. 

The scenes of home, the friendly face. 

The witchery of childhood's grace; 

All these I gather up and set 

Within my darkened cabinet, 

The which, when duly taken thence. 

And fixed with certain elements, 

Shall keep undimmed their pictured charm 

Through season's change and age's harm. 




A MIDWINTER THAW 



29 



THE COMING OF THE RAIN 

There's a sense of expectation in the air, 
And a hum of preparation everywhere, 

And the clamor waxes high, 

And the dusty legions fly 
As the heralds of the tempest sweep the square. 

The dusky clouds are massing in their might, 
And across the heavens passing thick as night. 
And the thunder-cannons boom. 
And the lightning splits the gloom 
And bathes the earth in sudden, livid ligh*-. 

Then the vanguard sends the battle music out 
As the drops begin to rattle all about, 

And the winds their trumpets blow, 

And with lances all a-row 
Down the shining column plunges with a shout. 



SKY LAND 

World of rare beauty! old yet ever new. 

Whose cloud-built scenes my fancy oft beguiles. 
Alike, though Winter storms or Summer smiles; 

Earth's varied forms you show in softer hue; 

Plains, valleys, mountains, in your depths I view; 
Sometimes an ocean set with fleecy isles. 
Or placid lake, girt round about for miles 

With snowy peaks upheaved against the blue. 

Here I a rugged cape can plainly trace. 
And there the curving beach-line of a bay; 

Awhile these hold their unsubstantial grace, 
Then are dissolved and pass like mist away. 

And newer shapes drift slowly into place. 
Frail counterfeits as fair and brief as they. 



30 




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32 



IN THE CITY 

The black smoke drifts across the sky, 
A blot on God's unclouded blue, 

And grimy buildings, blank and high, 
On either hand fill up my view. 

Without the tide of traffic flows 
And fills the street with its uproar, 

Whereon the sun so fiercely glows 
The stones are like an oven floor. 

And sudden longing, born of these, 
Wakes olden memories in my brain, 

And fancy from the present flees 

And seeks the scenes of youth again. 

xA.bove the tumult of the streets. 
Above these stifling airs of death, 

I hear the song the brook repeats. 

And catch the pine-trees' fragrant breath. 

And though my body here today 

Its customary task fulfills, 
In spirit I am far away 

Among the everlasting hills. 



MOON MAGIC 

Within my chamber window streams 
The full round moon's refulgent beams. 
And, roused, I quit my couch ^and stand 
At gaze on an enchanted land. 



33 



MOON MAGIC 

Outspread before my mazed eyes 
The sleeping town transfigured lies 
Beneath an ocean broad and still 
That reaches to my casement sill. 

A silver flood that covers all, 
Save where some spire, or chimney tall, 
That turns to me its shadowed side 
Yet shows above the shining tide. 




THE TENTS OF THE CORN HOST 

So calm it lies, this waveless sea, 
I fain a-voyaging would be, 
And straightway fancy frames a boat 
Whereon in spirit forth I float. 

As in a dream I drift away 
Beneath the moonlight's magic sway, 
And for a space at random range 
'Mid places grown remote and strange. 



34 



MOON MAGIC 

Yon grove that marks a city square 
Is now an island passing fair, 
Whose mystic, undetermined shore 
I strive to follow and explore. 

Where daylight shows a blank wall space 
Appears a clifF, about whose base 
The silent ghostly waters press 
In airy unsubstantialness. 




*4Mr 



A TOUCH OF WINTER 



The narrow street where shadows hide 
Becomes a cavern where the tide 
That lies as white as gleaming frost 
Is swiftly swallowed up and lost. 

Through these and other scenes I pass 
Till wearied fancy turns her glass, 
And lo! the east is pale with dawn 
And all the moon-wrought magic gone. 



35 



THE UNSLEEPING CITY 

Here darkness reigns and all around are lying 

In slumber deep; 
But yonder, where the lights with day are vying, 

They know not sleep. 

When in the west the sunset fires are burning. 

And winds breathe peace, 
There with fresh force they to the tasks are turning 

That never cease. 

There through the rest-meant hours wheels are spinning. 

And hand and brain 
From the defeated night are ever winning 

Some further gain. 

Not theirs to know the dusk sky's myriad faces. 

Where beauty glows; 
Or turn from views of vast, unclouded spaces 

To sweet repose. 

Not theirs amid dim silences to wander 

'Neath stars' soft smile — 
O toiling hearts! do you ne'er pause to ponder, 

"Is it worth while?" 



DRUID HILL PARK 

Our feet have trodden many ways. 

Highroad and bypath have we known. 
And we have spent auspicious days 

Adventuring in fields unknown; 
But dearer than all wandering, 

Or far or near, we treasure still. 
Because of memories they bring. 

The pleasant walks of Druid Hill. 



36 



DRUID HILL PARK 

By Crownest Road, by Edmund's Well, 

Up Mountain Pass or Prospect Ridge, 
Through stately grove and fragrant dell, 

By limpid brook and rustic bridge, 
We tread the old familiar ground. 

While fancies sweet our bosoms fill. 
Such recollections cluster round 

The pleasant walks of Druid Hill. 

By Silver Spring, by Clipper Gate, 

Beside the lake, across the lawn, 
Along the Mall, with pace sedate, 

We move as oft in times agone; 
Not one well-loved, remembered place 

But wakes a reminiscent thrill 
W^hene'er our loitering steps retrace 

The pleasant walks of Druid Hill. 



VACATION LONGINGS 

Oh, for a day upon old ocean's shore! 

The wet beach gleaming in the bright sunshine, 
The fresh breeze blowing over leagues of brine. 

And white surf pounding on the sandy floor; 

To watch the long swells rolling evermore. 
And slow ships creeping up the dim sky line, 
Swift would I fly, as pilgrim to a shrine, 

Whose goal attained will his lost joys restore; 

So might I feel once more the olden thrall 
Of wind and wave and salt spray flying free; 

Might hear across the tide the fishers call. 
And catch the shouts of bathers in their glee, 

Mixed with child laughter — and above it all 
The rhythmic surge of the majestic sea. 



37 




THE SPIRIT OF AUTUMN 



THE SUNSET ROAD 

Sweetheart, along the upward way 
We've toiled together many a day, 

And found both thorns and flowers; 
But now the morn of life is passed. 
The lengthening shades are backward cast, 

The sunset road is ours. 

Henceforth our path will downward tend, 
Unvarying to its destined end. 

Whose close we may not know; 
Yet forward will we blithely face 
And brave of heart and stout of pace. 

Contented onward go. 

38 



THE SUNSET ROAD 

We'll journey slow from scene to scene, 
Or rest in quiet groves between. 

With here and there a song; 
Now lightening a brother's load. 
Now cheering others on the road, 

Serene we'll move along. 

And when we reach that farthest shore. 
And Charon comes with dripping oar 

Across the waters dark, 
Still grateful for the pleasant years, 
We'll lay aside our doubts and fears 

And trustingly embark. 




THE DESERTED MANSION 



39 



IN MID-JULY 

The hazy fields are dumb and motionless. 
The woods are still in every dreaming spray, 
The blossoms droop beside the dusty way, 

Faint with the ardor of the sun's caress; 

All living things the subtle spell confess, 

The choir is mute that made the morning gay, 
Hushed is each bird note, save the plaintive lay 

Of wood-thrush, calling from some dim recess. 

Anon the scene a breath of air receives, 

A languid zephyr, that has scarce the power 

To wake a drowsy murmur in the leaves 
Or rock the bee upon his honied flower. 

Then Time, who near had slept, the charm unweaves 
And lazily proclaims the passing hour. 



A SUMMER STORM 

"Rain!" cried the tree, the first to catch the word, 
The herald wind brought o'er the dusty plain; 
"Rain! rain!" leaf after leaf took up the strain 

Till every drooping blade and blossom heard, 

And e'en the wasted brook was faintly stirred; 

Then, crash! the gathered clouds were split in twain, 
And down it poured, great sheets of driving rain. 

And all the landscape misty grew and blurred. 

Deep drank the thirsty earth so long denied; 

The blossoms bowed beneath it, and the tree, 
Feeling the gusty current smite its side, 

Tossed its glad arms and rocked in ecstasy; 
The brook became a torrent swift and wide 

And roared across the meadow, mad with glee. 



40 




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THE PATH TO THE SPRING 



41 




^\ vvwjxiiJNGTON VALLEY 



42 



A HUSTLER'S WISH 

I am a hustler; all my life 

It seems has been a chase; 
I entered early in the strife 

And kept a foremost place, 

I rushed so hard from youth to prime, 

I sometimes have my fears 
That I have run ahead of Time 

By half a score of years. 

And now that I've won Fortune's smile 

I'd like to stop the wheels, 
To quit the struggle for awhile 

And see how loafing feels. 

I'd like to seek some grassy plot, 

Such as the poets laud, 
And on the softest, greenest spot 

Just spread myself abroad. 

And there, all care forgotten, lie 
With gently heaving breast. 

And gaze up at the quiet sky 
And rest and rest and rest. 



DOWN THE BAY 

The breezes call, the waves invite, 
'Tis Summertime upon the Bay, 

And air and sun and sky unite 
To make a perfect holiday. 

The boat is rocking at the pier. 

The crowd is thronging through the gate. 
The whistle shrills its warning clear, 

W^e hurry on with hearts elate. 



43 



DOWN THE BAY 

The lines are loosed, the great wheels turn, 
The wharves pass swiftly in review, 

The city soon lies far astern, 
We drive toward the open blue. 

The waters broaden as we go. 
The shores recede on either side. 

The winds with freshened vigor blow. 
The white caps race across the tide. 




THE CURVING SHORE 



The sea-gulls follow in our wake. 
They dip and rise on tireless wings, 

The swells against a bell-buoy break 
And thrice its sharp alarum rings. 

An island to the windward looms, 

With white homes showing thro' the trees, 

And song of birds and scent of blooms 
Are sweetly borne upon the breeze. 



44 



DOWN THE BAY 

A lighthouse lifts, a speck of light 
That grows and brightens as we run, 

Stands out at length to tow'ring height, 
Its lantern flashing in the sun. 

We pass a homeward-headed sail 
That on her course rejoicing goes, 

And there, far off, a smoky trail 

An outward-passing steamer shows. 




THE READER 0.\ THE BEACH 

Before us leagues of water shine. 
The engines throb, the paddles fly, 

The shore thins to a ragged line 
Between blue waves and bluer sky. 

We follow on the gleaming track, 

Soothed by the cool, health-laden airs. 

Nor give a thought to turning back 
To burning streets and daily cares. 

45 



VACATION SONG 

Away from the town, away! 

Away to the woods and fields! 
To the blooming leas and the fragrant breeze 

And the pleasures nature yields! 

Away from the burning streets 

And the killing grind of trade 
To the dewy sheen of the meadows green 

And the woodland's soothing shade! 

Away from the city's roar 

To the song the brooklet sings, 
To the waters cool of the quiet pool 

Where the swallow dips his wings! 

Away to the founts of health! 

To the medicine of the hills! 
To gain new life to face the strife, 

And conquer the future's ills! 



MOONLIGHT ON THE CHESAPEAKE 

Swift o'er the surface of the bay we glide. 

Whereon the Night has spread her dusky veil. 
And lo! the moon, new risen now, and pale. 

Throws her reflection on the gloomy tide, 

A silver path, across the waters wide, 
That leads unbroken to our vessel's rail. 
Save when the silhouette of a passing sail 

A moment in the glory may abide. 

O perfect hour! won from life's toil and stress, 
Would that we might its fleeting passage stay, 

And soothed by breezy Summer's soft caress. 
Here, side by side, forever drift away 

O'er endless seas of moonlit loveliness. 
Far from the wearing strife of garish day. 

46 



BALLADE OF CONQUERING 

What though the tide of battle sets 

Fairly against us day by day; 
What though defeat despair begets 

And we grow heartsick o'er the hopeless fray; 

Still we as men our parts must play, 
Spite of failure and frequent pain, 

Still must we the command obey, 
^'Forward, into the fight again!" 

What though sorrow the eyelids wets. 

As hopes long cherished we see decay; 
W^hat though losses the spirit frets 

And the world before us looks bleak and gray; 

Yet must we each our task essay, 
Yet must we strive with hand and brain — 

The gold lies somewhere under the clay, 
''Forward, into the fight again!" 

What though we fall in the cunning nets 

That ever wait for the feet that stray; 
What though the past awakes regrets 

And thoughts of the future bring dismay; 

Others have traveled the weary way 
And won the summits for which we strain — 

Shall we prove less brave than they? 
^'Forward, into the fight again!" 

Envoy 

Comrades, let us not stop nor stay 

Though paths be filled with ghosts of the slain; 
Grip we our courage anew and say, 

"Forward, into the fight again!" 



47 




GATHERING CLOUDS, MOUTH OF THE SUSQUEHANNA 

NIGHT ON THE BEACH 

Now that the day is fading from the land, 
Turn we our steps toward the windy beach; 

The swelling waves run foaming up the strand, 
Or in the crumbling cliff make deeper breach. 

Come, gather up the driftwood strewn about 
That tells of storm, mayhap disaster dire. 

And while the watery tumult thunders out. 
Here sheltered from the spray build we a fire. 

High leaps the blaze, and whirling down the shore, 
A cloud of cinders spin in merry chase; 

Their glowing forms go tumbling o'er and o'er 
Till lost in darkness or the foam's embrace. 

Now cover up with sand the embers red, 

Here lay we down and watch the tide's unrest. 



48 



NIGHT ON THE BEACH 

Did mortal ever press a kinder bed? 
Or view a fairer scene with keener zest? 

Behind us, rising dark against the sky, 
The ragged bulk of every bush and tree; 

Before us, through the cloud-rack scudding by. 
The full moon rising o'er the waves we see. 

Around us fall the curtains of the night. 

Beneath us spreads the moon-besilvered bay; 

No human sound disturbs our deep delight. 
The world and all its care is shut away. 




A BREEZY DAY 



49 



PIONEERS 

The street is full of drifted snow, 
The walk has vanished and a row 
Of trampled footprints to and fro 

Its place betrays; 
And here the people come and go 

Their busy ways. 

Along in narrow track they tread, 
Each follows up the one ahead, 
Unbroken snow about them spread 

On either side; 
The human stream in that worn bed 

Will ever bide. 

Thus day by day our course we take. 
Content to follow in the wake 
Of those before, nor effort make 

At methods new; 
The common way we ne'er forsake 

Our journey through. 

Not thus the men whose deeds sublime 

Illume the chronicle of Time, 

Who left their names in every clime 

Our heritage, 
And live in deathless prose and rhyme 

From age to age. 

Not thus the men who brought the light 
When all the world was sunk in night, 
Who waged for Truth a valiant fight 

Through sneer and frown, 
And won in spite of Error's might 

The victor's crown. 

These followed not the beaten route 
But firm in faith, of courage stout. 
And free from fear and halting doubt. 

New pathways traced. 
And from the track struck boldly out 

Into the waste. 

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AT THE DOOR 

They said good-night, but lingered still 

On either side the narrow sill; 

He clasped her hands across the space, 
She strove to hide her happy face. 

Where love looked forth despite her skill. 

The clock rang out its warning shrill, 
They started with a guilty thrill, 
And once again (O cruel case!) 

They said good-night. 

Yet they their cup of bliss would fill, 
The moon retired in kindly will, 

And as the shadows veiled the place. 
He drew her close in his embrace 
And in a mode where words are nil 

They said good-night. 



NIGHTFALL 

With softest step, in sober garments clad. 

Laden with blessings and large-hearted cheer. 
The gracious presence of the Night draws near. 

And from the tired hands of the toiler glad 

She takes the task; wheels cease their whirrings mad 
At her light touch; day's worries disappear. 
As freely she bestows her treasures dear 

With equal favor on the gay and sad. 

All they that labor drove abroad at morn 
Turn swiftly homeward at her beckoning. 

And silent rooms, and households left forlorn. 
Are filled with joy and bright with welcoming; 

E'en to the meanest drudge her grace is borne. 
And he whom day made slave she makes a king. 



53 



':^m^ . c,m:^: 






MOUNTAIN PASS SPRING, DRUID HILL PARK 

THE PICTURE HUNTER 

He chases after wary game, 

Yet hunts his quarry undismayed; 

To capture beauty is his aim, 

To fix the shifting Hght and shade. 

The Springtime's fairness he pursues, 
Or Summer's glory seeks to snare; 

He lies in wait for Autumn's hues. 
And tracks white Winter to his lair. 

He searches nature's kingdom through. 
He ranges meadow, stream and hill, 



54 



THE PICTURE HUNTER 

Rejoicing when he finds a "view," 
Or subject that will test his skill. 

No close-time shortens his delight; 

For him is neither law nor ban; 
He treads whatever paths invite, 

And takes a "shot" whene'er he can. 

He follows up a thousand trails. 
Yea, distance is as naught to him; 

No fear his dauntless heart assails 
Save that a cloud the sun may dim. 

And so he goes his harmless way, 
And snaps his photographic gun, 

With zest as keen as theirs who slay. 
And sure his sport is twice the fun. 




JUST TO OBLIGE THE PHOTOGRAPHER 



55 



THE CHRISTMAS WAY 

The Christmas Way is broad and fair. 
And all men may pass freely there; 
Across the world it stretches far, 
Back to one brightly-gleaming star. 
Whose glory streams in widening ray 
Adown the love-set Christmas Way. 

There Hope and Joy go hand in hand 
And scatter blessings through the land, 
And Kindly Heart and Goodly Cheer 
Amid the foremost there appear; 
While merry jest and laughter gay 
Make music on the Christmas Way. 

There Gladness walks and jolly Mirth, 
And bells peal sweetly, "Peace on earth;" 
And over all the happy throng 
Resounds the old angelic song, 
"Good-will to men!" The swelling lay 
Thrills through the crowded Christmas Way. 

There, too, on either side, a row 

Of gift-booths stands, a wondrous show. 

Each one with evergreens bedight 

And mistletoe and holly bright; 

x^nd eager, glad-voiced children stray 

In rapture down the Christmas Way. 

O man! beset by Sin and Care, 
Or meshed in Money's golden snare. 
Cast off your bonds, put worry by. 
Come, with clean heart and beaming eye, 
And wander back to childhood's day 
Along the blessed Christmas Way. 



S6 



THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS 

O Spirit of the Christmas time, 

To you I lift my verses; 
You give the bells a blither chime 

And open hearts and purses. 

You make this old world heaven-fair 
And banish gloom and sadness; 

You lure men from life's sordid care 
To join in childhood's gladness. 

You blight the weeds that faith destroy 
And start love's flowers growing; 

You touch the sluggish pulse of joy 
And set the warm blood flowing. 

You oft renew aff^ection's blaze 

In lives whose bliss was squandered; 

You lead back to remembered ways 
The feet that far had wandered. 

You turn from contemplated wrong 
The souls who hatred treasure; 

You teach the lips unused to song 
To wake a gleeful measure. 

So, gentle spirit, take my lay 
And speed your mission ever, 

And may the years extend your sway 
Until you leave us never. 



LOVE IN LABOR 

I hold in plans or small or great 
Our faith must enter to prevail; 

The heart will conquer soon or late, 
No work of love can wholly fail. 



57 




VIEW FROM PROSPECT HILL, DRUID HILL PARK 

NEW YEAR'S EVE 

The New Year at the threshold stands, 
He comes to be awhile our guest; 
Haste we and set him forth our best, 

Such as his high estate demands. 

Prepare the chamber of the heart, 
Put all its worn-out gear aside; 
Let no profaning thing abide 

That of the Old Year made a part. 

Sweep out each lingering vice of youth. 
The follies born of thoughtless blood; 
Call back the olden love of good. 

And trim anew the lamp of truth. 

Cast off the foulness and the sin, 
The habits that to evil lead; 
Make sweet the dwelling for his need, 

And bid the New Year enter in. 



58 




HERRING RUN AT BELAIR ROAD BRIDGE 

A FALLEN IDOL 

Forlorn and friendless, day by day. 

He stands with wistful eye 
Beside the city's busy way 

And sees the world go by. 

His name was once a word to charm, 

Men strove his help to win; 
His voice had power to save or harm 

What cause he entered in. 

But now, unnoticed by the throng. 

An idle part he plays; 
His triumphs to the past belong. 

His fame to other days. 

The tide that bore him on its crest 
Through sunny days and fair 

Has ebbed, with swiftness all unguessed, 
And left him stranded there. 



59 



BALLADE OF CONDITIONS 

When life is smooth and the skies are blue. 

And we move along through quiet days. 
With nothing at all in the world to do, 

'Tis sweet to loiter in woodland ways; 

But when the pulse of the times betrays 
A fever-fire in its rapid beat, 

And thought finds vent in impassioned phrase, 
Then ho! for the rush and roar of the street. 

When the clouds of care are faint and few. 

And trouble far from our presence strays. 
With prospects wearing a roseate hue, 

'Tis sweet to loiter in woodland ways; 

But when the rallying trumpet brays. 
And legions haste on eager feet. 

And the marching hosts their slogans raise, 
Then ho! for the rush and roar of the street. 

When the future looks serene to view. 

And Peace on the spirit her soft spell lays, 
W^ith all things tranquil the broad land through, 

'Tis sweet to loiter in woodland ways; 

But when the fires of conflict blaze. 
And warring forces fiercely meet. 

And the flag of victory bends and sways, 
Then ho! for the rush and roar of the street. 

Envoy 

When life in the pulses sluggish plays, 
'Tis sweet to loiter in woodland ways; 
But when the tide runs strong and fleet. 
Then ho! for the rush and roar of the street. 



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62 



THANKSGIVING 

Lord of our days, with grateful hearts 
For plenteous tokens of Thy grace, 

Awhile we close our mills and marts, 
Forget our toil, and give Thee place. 

F'or all Thy mercies, round us still, 
We would in humble thanks unite; 

For work that kept our hands from ill. 
For love that led our steps aright. 

And as we gather to this feast, 

Though rich our table be or spare, 

Grant we may feel that not Thy least 
Through act of ours shall poorer fare. 

Grant all who for our needs provide. 
Who speed the arts or till the soil. 

May have this festal harvest tide 
An ampler portion for their toil. 

Increase our wisdom and our strength. 
Teach us to use our goodly store 

So that throughout our fair land's length 
The cry of want be heard no more. 



THE WITCHERY OF HALLOWE'EN 

The witchery of Hallowe'en, 

It tingles in the air! 
And spirits walk the halls unseen 

Or lurk upon the stair; 
We know their work in everything 

By ways we can't explain. 
The bells that curiously ring 

The ghost-taps at the pane. 

63 



THE WITCHERY OF HALLOWE'EN 

The witchery of Hallowe'en, 

It steals into the breast! 
It comes our sober days between 

And gives to life a zest; 
When with the merry throng we prove, 

By foolish spell or rhyme, 
The truth of charms that only move 

At this enchanted time. 

The witchery of Hallowe'en, 

We freely own its power! 
May each return still find us keen 

For Folly's fleeting hour; 
And let the years steal what they may 

From joys to which we've clung. 
So that they spare each festal day 

That keeps this old world young! 




THE SUN-FLOODED WOODLAND 



64 




AT CEDAR POINT, M \R BETIERIUN 

TWO SOULS: A SONG 

Two souls meant for each other 

Passed on through life apart; 
Nor look expressed, nor lip confessed 

What lay in each longing heart. 
Though kindred in thought and feeling 

Their paths were sundered wide, 
For one of them dwelt in the Vale of Love 

And one on the Heights of Pride. 

Ah, vain are the world's conventions, 

And barriers raised by caste; 
These souls they fell 'neath the old sweet spell 

And won to their joy at last. 
Unmindful of worth or station, 

Heart called and heart replied. 
And they dwell for aye in the Vale of Love 

Afar from the Heights of Pride. 



65 



CHANCE 

I am the maddest sprite that walks the earth, 
Upon mankind I vent my frolic thought, 
Order and rule I ever set at naught, 

I crown with honors one devoid of worth, 

I give him plenty who deserveth dearth. 

And teach the fool what Wisdom vainly sought. 
Many the transformations I have wrought, 

I turn life topsy-turvy for my mirth, 

I make the beggar rich, the vassal king — 
There are no bounds to my extravagance; 

When brave men battle for some priceless thing. 
And do and dare their fortunes to advance, 

Ofttimes the prize with random hand I fling 
To some dull clown who never lifted lance. 



SEA VENTURES 

The ships, in all their snowy pride. 
Drop slowly seaward with the tide; 
I stand here at the harbor side 

And watch them outward steer; 
And oft I wonder as I gaze. 
Of all the ships mine eye surveys. 
How many will in after days 

In port again appear? 

Ah! not a few, before the blast, 
Will sink beneath the waters vast. 
Or on some rocky shore be cast. 

Dismantled, battered wrecks; 
Yet, none the less, the vessels will — 
Let winds blow fair or winds blow ill- 
Go forth on man's adventures still 

Wherever Fortune becks. 



66 



SEA VENTURES 

We, too, send forth our ships, with cheers, 
Out on the sea of changeful years. 
And wait, with varying hopes and fears. 

To greet their coming home. 
Till tidings blown from shores afar 
Of treacherous sands or sunken bar, 
And strong boats foundered, hull and spar, 

Tell us they will not come. 

But though Fate thus our effort mocks. 
Not all the dread of tempest shocks. 
Of adverse winds or hidden rocks. 

Can e'er our faith subdue; 
And soon upon that shifting main 
Our ships go bravely forth again, 
Though cravens cry, "Your toil is vain. 

Why still the shade pursue.^" 

Hope on, brave heart, the tide must turn. 
We cannot Fortune's ways discern; 
Though now she every offering spurn. 

She yet may with us dwell; 
When, borne before a favoring gale. 
Our ships return with swelling sail, 
And to our faint and trembling hail. 

Send back a glad "All's well!" 



PUZZLING 

Whenever I look in memory's glass. 

What pictures there may be. 
And view the doings of by-gone days. 

This one thing puzzles me: 
Why the things and scenes I would most recall 

Have vanished clear away. 
While the times I have made a fool of myself 

Are as fresh as yesterday? 

67 





THE GLOWING WEST 

THE HILLS OF HOPE 

We tread the dreary round of toil, 

As duty bids or need; 
Deep in the valley's depths we moil, 

Where wrong and evil breed; 
Around us rise the peaceful hills, 

With pleasant groves o'erspread, 
Whose paths, when time our hope fulfills. 

We mean our feet shall tread. 

We labor through the weary days, 

Amid the dust and gloom. 
And ever lift a longing gaze 

Up to those peaks of bloom; 
Then turn and strike a stronger blow. 

And set a sterner face, 
And onward strive, with heart aglow. 

Resolved to win a place. 



68 



THE HILLS OF HOPE 

Ofttimes to lowest depths we fall, 

And lose life's kindly cheer, 
Despair enshrouds us like a pall. 

And failure seems anear; 
But still upon the hills of hope 

The sunrise glory gleams, 
And still love beckons up the slope 

That leads us to our dreams. 

O fainting soul! be not dismayed. 

Press on unto the goal; 
Attack each barrier unafraid, 

With purpose firm and whole; 
Nor murmur if the way be long, 

Nor falter in the quest. 
And you shall join the victor throng 

Upon those heights of rest. 





DAYBREAK IN THE CITY 



69 



BALLADE OF LOST PICTURES 

Our album holds full many a view, 

Our walls some worthy prints display, 
Good subjects we possess, a few, 

And films that scrutiny repay; 

But still our wayward thoughts will stray 
To scenes where we with failure met. 

Fond memories that ever stay — 
The pictures that we didn't get. 

The search for beauty we pursue. 

In every field we seek our "prey," 
We hunger for material new. 

And make exposures where we may; 

And though results much skill betray. 
We feel no less a vague regret 

For those we've missed and lost for aye — 
The pictures that we didn't get. 

Elusive graces still we woo, 

Each subtle charm we would portray. 
Though trifles oft our care undo. 

And error spoils the best essay; 

Development has gone astray. 
Or shutter has been wrongly set — 

What glowing fancies round them play — 
The pictures that we didn't get. 

Envoy 

The biggest fish still gets away. 
The noblest game escapes the net. 

And we alike bewail today 

The pictures that we didn't get. 



70 




THE ELLICOTT DRIVEWAY, GWYNN'S FALLS PARK 



71 



- — 3^-^ --~-:,^p 




HAZY OCTOBER 



72 



THE AVIATOR 

Secure upon my slender seat 
I upward speed — a thing elate; 

Fast falls the earth beneath my feet; 
The soaring eagle is my mate. 

I slant my flexile wings of steel 
And shoot into the upper blue, 

Or turn my sentient steering wheel 
And sail the silent regions through. 

I dive, I soar, I ride at will 

The waves of the uncharted air; 

My humming motor drives me still 
To heights no feathered travelers dare. 

I revel in the realms of light; 

I drink the winds of ecstasy; 
I note with ever-fresh delight 

The glorious prospect spread for me. 

Let timid souls contented crawl 
About the narrow land's confine; 

Give me my winged ship and all 

The boundless world of space for mine! 



LOVE'S TORMENT: TRIOLET 

She gave me a smile. 

And gave him a rose; 
And I think all the while, 

She gave me a smile! 

Was it kindness or guile — - 
Which do you suppose.'' 

She gave me a smile. 
And gave him a rose! 



73 




THE CASTLE ON THE HILL 

THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 

The Glorious Fourth! Aye, truly styled 
The "glorious," for no other day 

Since Freedom on the world first smiled 
Has o'er man's fate had greater sway. 

'Twas on this day our fathers met 
In solemn state, as fit their cause, 

And in undying language set 

Their protest 'gainst despotic laws. 

They braved the Old World's wrath and hate. 
They cast all precedent aside, 



74 



THE GLORIOUS FOURTH 

And raised the pillars of our State 

That still endure, our boast and pride. 

Then let us celebrate their deed, 

And keep the day with speech and song, 

And sow anew the precious seed 

From which has sprung our Union strong. 

Fling out "Old Glory" to the sun; 

Let bells rejoice and cannons roar; 
Rehearse the tale of triumphs won, 

And swell the cheer from shore to shore. 

Show all mankind we still hold dear 

The liberty our fathers gave; 
Proclaim its blessings far and near 

Till earth no longer knows a slave. 




WHEN THE FLOODGATE IS OPEN 



75 



THE OTHER WAY 

Each morning as to work I go, 

A maiden fair I meet, 
The dearest, sweetest girl, I know, 

That treads the busy street; 
She comes and goes so sweet and shy, 

Watch her I could all day, 
But ah! she quickly passes by — - 

She goes the other way. 

I note her coming with delight, 

And often wish that she 
Would read my tender looks aright 

And kindly smile on me; 
But scarce I gaze upon her face 

And mark the blushes play, 
Ere tripping by with dainty pace 

She goes the other way. 

Thus Fortune, too, the gay coquette, 

Will ever me torment; 
For years Eve tried my steps to set 

The way that hers are bent; 
But she will my endeavors cheat, 

Strive howsoe'er I may. 
And always when we chance to meet 

She goes the other way. 



A DECLARATION 

Dear heart, I've striven long to find 
Some way to tell my state of mind 

In language due; 
But vain my toil, my sighs, my tears; 
No thought will come, no line appears 
Save this: "I'm over head and ears 

In love with you." 



76 



BALLADE OF THE TERRIBLE PROPHET 

I shirk no trials a man may meet 

While journeying on this mortal sphere, 

I can eat my grapes, though sour or sweet. 

And take my chances without a fear; 
^ I dread not poverty's presence drear, 

I'll face misfortune's cruellest blow; 

But I shrink and cower when comes anear 

The terrible prophet, I told-you-so. 

I can bow to the fate that brings defeat. 

And smile at the world's unfeeling jeer. 
But Satan's self I would rather greet 

Than list to this bore with his half-hid sneer; 

Than have him prate in my tortured ear 
The wordy reasons I sadly know. 

That tear my wounds like a jagged spear— 
The terrible prophet, I-told-you-so. 

I can bear the shock to my poor conceit 
When I see my brave schemes disappear, 

But I long to flee to a safe retreat 
Whenever his rasping voice I hear: 
How he had known it for half a year, 

He felt it would happen long ago; ' 

It was all foreseen by this mighty seer, 

The terrible prohpet, I-told-you-so. 

Envoy 

Death, grim slayer, have you no cheer? 

Take your weapon and lay him low- 
Give me to read on his tombstone clear: 

"The terrible prophet, I-told-you-so." 



77 




DRIFTWOOD POINT, ON THE SEVERN 



A QUERY 

My aforetime plunging friend. 

Now you've reached your tether's end 

And must henceforth calmly wend 

With the herd; 
Without quibble or pretense, 
Out of your experience, 
Answer me in confidence 

Just a word. 

You have walked in joyous ways 
All the morning of your days 
And have let your spirits blaze 
Unrestrained; 

78 



A QUERY 

Every pleasure you have tried 
That your pocket could provide, 
Nor threw you the cup aside 
Until drained. 

So, your folly being done. 

And your comrades fled, each one, 

Tell me ere your race be run 

On the earth; 
As you reckon up your lot. 
All you had and now have not. 
Do you really think you got 

Your money's worth? 




ROUGH GOING 



79 



THE STRENUOUS LIFE 

Wake! for the sun has ushered in the day; 
The city clamors and you must away — 

Why rail then at the fate that drives you forth 
Or swear at Time for tha-t he will not stay? 

Quick! seize the cup of coffee scalding hot; 
The hasty roll, the egg — no matter what; 

There is no time to feast if you would keep 
Your hard-won fame of "Johnny-on-the-spot." 

Rush wildly forth, leave wide both door and gate, 
The trolley's coming and it will not wait; 

Haste now, lest you be left along with those 
Who beat the air and wail, "Too late!" "Too late!" 

x^ttack your work; exert your utmost power. 
With thought to crowd a week into an hour — 

You dare not take your leisure if you hope 
From all the throng to pluck Success's flower. 

Dash out at noon unto the lunchroom nigh. 
Bolt down your sandwich and prepare to fly; 

The clock speaks with inexorable voice 
And bids you hence, nor tarry for the pie. 

Fill thus the hours, nor cease e'en with the light. 
But push your labors far into the night; 

There is so much that waits accomplishment. 
And soon comes Death to claim his oft-scorned right. 

And when the scribe whom wiser ways shall rule 
Stands where you lie beneath the grasses cool 

And reads the too-brief record of your years. 
It may be he will write, "Here was a fool!" 

80 




2 

O 
H 
g 

13 
^^ 

< 

Q 

o 



82 



A CHEER-FULL SOUL 

I am not fit for war or "scrap," 

My fighting arm is bad; 
But I can cheer the other chap, 

And in his strength be glad. 

I follow up our soldiers true. 

Our navy lads likewise, 
And when a stirring deed they do 

I cheer them to the skies. 

I cheered when Dewey smote old Spain 
That famous morn in May, 

And for the fleet I cheered again 
At Santiago Bay. 

I cheered for San Juan's splendid fight. 
When Roosevelt led the van; 

I cheer each battle for the right, 
I cheer the best I can. 

I cheer our boys who "over there" 

Drive forward to Berlin, 
And if the Lord my life shall spare 

I'll cheer until they win. 

And even if the news should come, 
"The Kaiser's reign is o'er!" 

And I were lying still and dumb, 
I'd rise and cheer once more. 



SAME OLD THING 

New jokes for George's natal day 
We've hunted for in vain; 

And so we'll have to go and chop 
That cherry tree again. 



83 




THE DAM I.\ SU.M.\II:R 

OVER-TALENTED 

Ah, better far it is to be 

Blest with one gift that shines 
Than cursed with mediocrity 

In half-a-dozen lines! 

For instance: You could hardly name 

A thing Jones couldn't do; 
Of ways to reach success and fame 

A score at least he knew. 

But yet his talents, strange to say, 

Were not of much avail 
In helping him to make his way 

Or fill his dinner pail. 

While Smith, whose wit and skill are small, 
His course triumphant goes; 



84 



OVER-TALENTED 

On one thing only can he call. 
But that one thing he knows. 

And so Jones hustles hard and long 
To make his scant ends meet, 

While Smith in power waxes strong 
And lives on Easy Street. 

Hence we contend: Far better be 
Blest with one gift that shines 

Than cursed with mediocrity 
In half-a-dozen lines. 




THE DAM IN WINTER 



8S 



WHAT COLUMBUS MISSED 

When old Columbus reached these shores 

In fourteen-ninety-two, 
Fierce Indian tribes he saw by scores 

And wild beasts quite a few; 
But they were not a circumstance 

To what he'd have to face 
Had he arrived by any chance 

In this swift year of grace. 

If he in spirit could come back 

And mingle in our life. 
He'd soon be hustled from the track 

And forced to quit the strife; 
For tougher things than savage band 

And prowling beasts of prey 
Would make for him on every hand 

To scare his wits away. 

The trolley-cars would pick him up, 

The autos run him down, 
Distracting noise would fill his cup, 

And hurrying crowds would frown; 
Fear would be ever at his throat, 

And terror stay his feet; 
A dozen times they'd "get his goat" 

As he went through the street. 

His privilege he'd quickly waive. 

We know beyond a doubt. 
And seek again his quiet grave. 

No more to venture out; 
And if a record could be had 

Of thoughts within him hid. 
We're sure 'twould be, "Gee whiz, I'm glad 

I landed when I did!" 



SPRING SONG 

"Spring, gentle Spring" — Old Song 

Now Winter sees his power wane, 

And rising up betimes, 
Departs with all his stormy train. 

For more congenial climes; 
Throughout the reawakened land 

A milder reign is sung. 
And thus we clearly understand 

That "gentle Spring" has "sprung." 

The streamlet breaks the icy hush 

Wrought by the Northwind keen, 
And Nature with artistic brush 

Now paints the landscape green; 
Upon the boughs the buds come out 

Where late icicles clung, 
Which goes to prove beyond a doubt 

That "gentle Spring" has "sprung." 

The birds that vanished with the leaves 

Now suddenly appear, 
And chatter daily round our eaves 

Of Summer's coming cheer; 
While each nest-building conference 

The blooming groves among 
Affords conclusive evidence 

That "gentle Spring" has "sprung." 



IN THE FISHING SEASON 

With spade upon his shoulder 
Forth hubby goes elate; 

Wife thinks he is making garden, 
He knows he is digging bait. 



87 




BLUSTERY MARCH 



THE DOLLAR OF OUR DADDIES 

The dollar of our daddies must have been a wondrous thing, 
According to the worthy folks who still its praises sing; 
The stunts they used to do with it were marvels of finance, 
So wild they seem you'd justly deem them borrowed from 
romance. 

For purchasing it had, it seems, illimitable powers — 

Why ten of 'em would buy more stuff than twenty-five of 

ours; 
With fifty in your pockets you owned everything in sight. 
And thirty cents was affluence if what they say is right. 



They used to take one, they declare, and shopping go through 

town, 
And come back home with purchases and bundles loaded down; 



THE DOLLAR OF OUR DADDIES 

And likewise at the market-house, a basket they would fill 
With goodly share of all things there for just a single bill. 

Such facts are hard to realize, when we who shop today 
Must take along such stacks of cash we need a truck or dray, 
While what we get for it would scarce a carrier pigeon tax; 
For in all things excepting wings our present dollar lacks. 

Whene'er I hear these glowing tales my anger waxes hot, 
To think a dollar of such worth has been but now is not; 
'Twould fill me with delight to find one of its kind today — 
Oh, I could thump the senseless chump who let it get awayl 




A STONY BEACH 



89 



A BOUT WITH THE H. C. L. 

^ Preliminary 

He seized the basket in a huff 

And to his wife said wrathfully, 
"Bah! this High-Cost-of-Living stuff 

I'll prove a fake in one, two, three." 

First Round 

"What are your fowls, good dealer, tell?" 
But, told, he said, with glaring eye, 

"It must be eagles that you sell; 
No turkey ever soared so high." 

Second Round 

"A pair of chickens, nice and fat. 

Would do," he mused. They named a price- 
"Good land!" he shrieked, "a sum like that 

Should purchase birds of paradise." 

Third Round 

He sought a roast of veal instead, 
For that he figured would be less; 

He learned the cost and sneering said, 
"From Aaron's golden calf, I guess." 

Last Round — Down and Out 

In spirit crushed, he turned away. 
Told o'er his cash with worried brow, 

And sighed, "I've got enough to pay 
For cheese and crackers anyhow." 



90 




AVENUE OF POPLARS, CARROLL PARK 



91 







4 



'WHEN THE FROST HAS WROUGHT A SILENCE" 




92 



A TAILOR-MADE GHOST STORY 

Having heard a doubtful story on my friend, Philander Smith, 

I started out to learn if it was true or but a myth; 

So I said to him severely, when in private we were met, 

"I am pained to hear. Philander, you repudiate a debt. 

You admit the allegation? Then be pleased to tell me straight 

Why you a trivial tailor's bill refuse to liquidate." 

Philander mused a moment, then he raised his truthful eyes. 

And with earnestness of manner, he responded in this wise: 

"The debt which you refer to was contracted for a suit 
That I wanted for the party of the wealthy Miss De Boot, 
And it would have been adjusted like all matters of the kind 
Had not a strange adventure brought about a change of mind. 
I returned home from the party very late and nearly dead. 
And was wearily preparing to dispose myself in bed. 
When a shadowy sort of something came between me and the 

light, 
And I turned to see a figure that o'erwhelmed me with affright; 
A partly shrouded skeleton was standing by my chair. 
Regarding my new garments with an interested air, 
And while my startled senses whirled in chaos through my 

head. 
It finished its inspection and upon me turned and said: 
'No doubt you greatly wonder what it is that brings me here. 
Well, the fact is we grave dwellers find existence rather drear. 
So to wake things up a trifle we are going to give a ball. 
And that little innovation is the reason of my call; 
For lacking proper garments the diversion to attend, 
I have journeyed here this evening the deficiency to mend; 
Having heard your reputation in the matter of attire, 
I calculated you could furnish just what I desire.' 
Then it grinned at me so meaningly my knees together smote. 
And my heart forsook my bosom and climbed up into my 

throat, 
But I mustered all my courage and I said in accents stern: 
'My ghostly friend, I rather think you've struck the wrong 

concern; 



92, 



A TAILOR-MADE GHOST STORY 

I do not keep a clothing store, nor do I suits supply 
To wandering cadavers who would earthly pleasures try, 
And, pardon the suggestion, but it really seems to me 
You need a coffin more than anything that I can see.' 
Thus I spoke, in manner fearless, but the figure gave no heed 
But continued, 'This before me is about the thing I need, 
So make haste and hand it over, for the night is on the wane. 
And before the morning brightens I must be at home again.' 




MORNING ON THE POTOMAC 



Then I cried, 'You shall not have it,' when a chill upon me fell. 
And my strength and will departed, banished by some dreadful 

spell. 
And I handed forth my garments, though it nearly broke my 

heart. 
And the figure seized upon them and made ready to depart. 
When I found the voice to utter, 'Will they no more meet my 

view? 



94 



A TAILOR-MADE GHOST STORY 

I had just begun to wear them, and the tailor lacks his due.' 
'What!' the figure shrieked, 'you tell me that the bill is yet un- 
paid? 
That a rule I've nearly broken which I all my life obeyed? 
There! take back your cheap apparel, in my life I never wore 
E'en a single piece of clothing that had not been settled for;' 
And with that it threw them at me, knocking me from out my 
chair. 




r;\ ENING ON THE SEVERN 



And when I struggled to my feet no sign of it was there. 
I slept, and in the morning there my clothing lay outspread 
Where the dreadful thing had thrown them when it knocked 

me down and fled; 
But whether it was real or not, there's one thing very plain, 
I don't propose to have the same experience again. 
And, fearing that it might return and take my suit away, 
I don't intend to pay the bill this side the judgment day." 



95 



A PATHETIC CASE 

Poor New Year Resolution 

Is growing worn and thin; 
He's wobbly in his movements, 

And droopy at his chin. 
With strenuous conditions 

He wasn't built to cope — 
Poor New Year Resolution! 

We've given up all hope. 

Poor New Year Resolution 

Is failing very fast; 
To all who look upon him, 

It's plain he cannot last. 
We hardly recognize him 

That was so fresh and strong- 
Poor New Year Resolution! 

He won't be with us long. 

Poor New Year Resolution, 

We hate to see him go; 
So young, so full of promise, 

'Twill be an awful blow. 
'Tis sad to see such courage 

So quickly meet decay- 
Poor New Year Resolution! 

He's had his little day. 



A SARCASTIC ROOTER 

A girl new to baseball affairs, 

Saw the men, yelling, stand on their chairs; 

"Are you rooting?" she said 

To one wild-eyed and red. 
And he shrieked, "No, I'm saying my prayers. 



96 



A JOB FOR CUPID 

Dear Cupid: Find herewith enclosed 
A job that needs your aid — 

A valentine I late composed 
To my ideal maid. 

But for it I have no address 

(Absurd no doubt it seems) 
Because, I may as well confess, 

Fve met her but in dreams. 

I know her face, her form, her hair. 

Her kindly smile as well, 
But how she lives, with whom, or where, 

Alas! I cannot tell. 

And so — such faith your fame creates — 

I come with this appeal. 
Assured you'll find her where she waits 

And make my dreaming real. 

Fve faithfully performed my part, 

Fve penned this token true. 
Wherein Fve told her all my heart, 

So now it's up to you. 



Miss 

At 

Kindness of 

Master Cupid 

97 




THE LONG WHITE WAY 



CRUSHED 



The joker rose from his humble bed. 
And a merry jest flashed through his head; 
"Ha, ha," he laughed, as he donned his clothes, 
"I'll bet when I get that off it goes." 

To his frugal meal he sat him down 
And thought he'd banish the good dame's frown, 
But his first word struck no responsive chord; 
She didn't like jokes — she wanted her board. 



Crushed, he went forth to the wak'ning street 
And saw the policeman upon his beat, 



CRUSHED 

He started the joke, but instead of a grin, 
It was, "You get gay and I'll run you in." 

He met with a friend and tried once more, 
But his tale had the same fate as before; 
He had played, so to speak, but the opening bar. 
When his friend said, "Excuse me, here's my car.' 

He turned to the scene of his daily toil 
And thought that his joke would serve as oil 
To the angry boss, but he stopped with a jerk 
When told to "Cut it and get to work." 

'Twas all in vain, it couldn't be told. 

And a sorrowful tear down his features rolled; 

And he lives today in a hopeless state, 

A man with a joke he can't relate. 




A ROADSIDE MONARCH 



99 



A LAST APPEAL 

O hear me, cruel-hearted thief! 

This is my last appeal to you; 
Here read the cause of all my grief 

And see the mischief that you do. 

You took from me my tender heart, 
Though you it could no profit bring; 

Now mine is but an idle part, 
I have no heart for anything. 

You robbed me of my healthful sleep. 
To me the night no more brings rest; 

Your haunting graces round me sweep 
Whene'er my troubled pillow's pressed. 

You stole my appetite away, 

Alas! I can no longer eat; 
The dining-hours that sweetened day 

Have lost the charm that made them sweet. 

Give back, give back all these again, 

And you I will forever bless; 
For me to live with none were vain, 

While you can surely live with less. 

Or if a part you wish to keep, 
I yield perforce unto your might; 

So hold you then my heart and sleep. 
But please return my appetite! 



CORRECTED 

'So he's got money to burn," said the Western maid. 
As they talked of Miss Boston's chosen mate; 

'Your pardon," the cultured fair one said, 
"He has currency to incinerate." 



lOO 




lOI 




lOI 



THE COMMUTER 

He labored in the town afar 

And sprinted for the early car; 

Thro' Summer's dust, thro' Winter's snow, 

Swift and exact he used to go; 

Thro' Springtime rain, thro' Autumn blast, 

Unvarying on his way he passed. 

So faithfully his path he'd skim 

The neighbors knew the time by him; 

And lazy folks abed would lie 

Until they heard him passing by, 

Which told them it was time to rise 

As plain as clock before their eyes. 

But once he was an hour late. 

And as he passed by door and gate, 

The people all cried out "Alack! 

The clock is wrong;" and set it back; 

And all their work got out of gear. 

And things were turned around and queer. 

And he was scolded left and right 

Because they got in such a plight. 

And after that he dared not stray 

A single moment from the way. 

But sped his daily course upon 

As regularly as the sun. 

POOR MAN 

He waited patient in his place 
In hope to recognize her hat; 

He knew 'twas vain to seek her face. 
And so he watched the round, the flat. 

The crazy styles, and sighed, "I wonder 
Which one of them my wife is under?" 



103 




THE GUNPOWDER BELOW LOCH RAVEN 

THE NEWER INDEPENDENCE DAY 

When Freedom from her mountain height 

Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She little reckoned what a sight 

Of trouble we would have to bear; 
She hardly thought the time would be 

When it would all Law's wits require 
To curb her lively progeny 

And quench their patriotic fire. 

She never dreamed her votive youth 

So ardently would celebrate 
That her great day would grow in truth 

A thing for men to execrate; 
That people over all the land 

Would her enthusiasts revile, 



104 



THE NEWER INDEPENDENCE DAY 

And fly to some more peaceful strand 
Or wish they might be deaf awhile. 

And if the goddess could today 

Declare her sentiments to us, 
I do not doubt that she would pray 

A worship not so strenuous; 
Then give her praise — an ample share, 

Nor yield an atom of your joys 
But — ^just a little more of care 

And just a little less of noise. 




l, 



THE CREST OF THE HILI, 



105 



CHRISTMAS CHANGES 

"It is the gracious Christmas time. 
The fireplace glows with cheery light, 

And on the windows, white with rime, 
A thousand jewels sparkle bright. 

The tree within the corner stands. 

Its boughs with glittering baubles strung. 

Where Santa Claus with generous hands 
Last night his welcome presents hung. 

Without the earth is wrapped in snow 
And sleigh-bells jingle far and near. 

And sounds of gladness come and go 
Upon the frosty atmosphere." 

Thus sang the bard of former days, 
Or might have sung if so he willed. 

But I, who scribble modern lays, 

Am not by such bright visions thrilled. 

No glowing fireplace, deep and wide, 
Have I to set my muse a-dream; 

I keep my Christmas cheer beside 
A radiator run by steam. 

The corner holds no laden tree 
That I in rhyme m.ight celebrate. 

Because, the scientists agree, 
Our forests thus we devastate. 



And if the Ruler of the skies 

Sends down the snow for our delight, 
The City Fathers straight arise 

And chase it oflf the earth e'er night. 

1 06 



CHRISTMAS CHANGES 

Thus Progress still our bliss destroys. 
Time knocks our fondest ideals out; 

How can I sing of Christmas joys 
When none are left to sing about ? 



A CHRISTMAS SUGGESTION 

Now brother's got a walking-stick, 

A present he abominates; 
And sister's waist just makes her sick, 

It is a shade she fairly hates; 
xA.nd mother's gift's a patent thing 

For toasting bread — which she can't bear- 
And father has a signet ring, 

Who jewelry would never wear. 

And they have picked, with equal skill. 

Their maiden aunt a carving knife; 
A lounging robe for Uncle Bill, 

W^ho never lounged in all his life; 
A set of James for Cousin Sue, 

W^ho doesn't like his works a jot. 
And all the presents seem askew 

And no one wants the thing they got. 

If, then, we rack our wits in vain. 

And all for naught each year go broke. 
The giving will become a pain. 

And Christmas but a sorry joke; 
And so that no one will be vexed, 

And none be blamed for lack of sense. 
Let's get together ere the next 

And swap with some intelligence. 



107 




CHATTOI.ANEE SPRING, GREEN SPRING VALLEY 



AN UNKIND CUT 

A valentine to her he sent — 
Her smile had made him bold — 

A thing where hearts and Cupids blent 
And love's delight was told. 

It seemed the passion to reveal 
He ne'er in words could frame, 

And so he wrote, "'Tis thus I feel," 
And signed thereon his name. 

She read the soft effusion o'er 
Then took her pen and wrote; 

Next day the mail brought to his door 
A dainty scented note. 

He sprang the missive to remove 

And read these cruel lines: 
"I told you I did not approve 

Of comic valentines." 




THE OLD VIADUCT, NKAR CLAREMONT 

SIGNS OF SUMMER 

When days wax longer as they pass 
And airs more torrid blow, 

When to the greenwood lad and lass 
In merry parties go; 

When each suburbanite you meet 
Prates of his garden patch, 

When anglers brother anglers greet 
With yarns about the catch; 

When loud from every plot of green 
The lawn-mower sounds afar. 

When on each vacant lot is seen 
The future baseball star; 

When city street and country lane 
Anew with sunlight throb. 

We know that Summer's come again 
And Old Sol's on the job. 

109 



RESOLUTION 

He called her fickle, heartless, cold. 

And wished that he had never met her; 

Declared his love's knell had been tolled, 
And said he lived but to forget her. 

He gave her back each scented note, 

From every pledge made haste to free her; 

Then went away to scenes remote, 

And vowed he nevermore would see her. 

But when she wrote in dire distress, 

"Please, Jack, return, my heart's dear master,' 
He went home by the fast express. 

And swore because it wasn't faster. 



A CALL BY WIRELESS 

Should the receiver of your heart 
Thrill to an influence strange. 

Pear not; 'tis but that Cupid's art 
Has brought you in my range. 

Long while on lonely seas adrift. 
Storm-tossed and sore afraid, 

I've seized the age's latest gift 
And sent this call for aid. 

Believing Love would guide it true, 
I've wirelessed my distress. 

And this glad day I'll bless if you 
Have caught my S. O. S. 

no 




Ill 




I 12 



A WARRIOR BOLD 

He rose beside the evening board, 

The carving-knife held high, 
As though it were a knightly sword. 

And spoke with flashing eye: 

"You who have many wrongs endured 

x^nd oft have wept your lot, 
What has your patient course secured, 

Your peaceful measures got? 

Our pleas neglected, wishes spurned. 
Our rights denied with scorn; 

But now the lowly worm has turned, 
'Twill be no longer borne. 

My blood is up, my will is strong. 

And fixed is my intent; 
The tyrant who has ruled us long 

I doom to banishment! 

Then hand me down my trusty gun. 

And stand not in the way; 
'Tis time this long-stayed deed was done, 

I will no more delay." 

He turned without a sign of fear, 

Gave one last lingering look. 
Embraced his wife and children dear. 

And went — to fire the cook! 



THE REASON 

Bock beer signs will this year be missed. 

Regretfully we note, 
Because the prohibitionist 

Has got the brewer's goat. 

J13 




LAKE MONTEBELLO 



A LEAP-YEAR EPISODE 

They were gathered in the office, for the boss was not around. 
And they talked on various topics with sagacity profound. 
Until someone mentioned leap-year and the privilege ladies had 
Of proposing for a husband then if one they wanted bad. 

There was Jones, the city salesman; Smith, the keeper of the 

cash; 
And Robinson and Jackson, and they all spoke up quite rash 
Of the way they'd treat a lady who might offer them her hand. 
And the sentiments they uttered were magnanimous and grand; 

When the door abruptly opened and a female entered there, 
A lady large and stately, with a most determined air. 
And o'er that group of noble men her flashing glances ran. 
Then she in manner resolute began, ''I want a man — " 



114 



A LEAP-YEAR EPISODE 

Jones leaped straight for the window and was through it like a 

flash, 
And Jackson down the elevator made a splendid dash, 
And passersby who saw the pair go speeding up the street 
Declared that as a sprinting match it never could be beat. 

Smith, too, of his agility gave most conclusive proof 
By springing on the fire-escape and climbing to the roof; 
And Robinson, he couldn't tell just how he got away, 
But they dragged him from the cellar somewhat later in the day; 

While the lady, she whose entrance had such wild commotion 

made. 
Turned to the grinning office boy, the only one who stayed, 
And said as if in these events she noticed nothing strange, 
"I want a man to come around and fix my kitchen range." 



'ff 






A SPRING MORNING ON THE JONNYCAKE ROAD 

"5 



A BAD BREAK 

We sauntered down the quiet street. 

Our fancy busy otherwhere, 
When sudden came to stay our feet 

A startling shriek upon the air. 

And from a mansion near there fled 
A damsel of uncommon grace, 

And after her a ruffian sped 
With menace on his evil face. 

The fleeing maid he quickly caught 

And dragged her wildly struggling back. 

The while we stood as one distraught 
At sight of such a bold attack. 

Then to our heart in rushing tide 
Came indignation rich and warm, 

"Unhand her, villain," loud we cried, 
"Or feel the weight of our good arm.'* 

And then we heard an angry "Hey!" 
From one nearby at a machine, 

"Somebody chase that boob away, 
He's spoiled our finest movie scene!" 



THE NEW WOMAN 

O woman, with new life athrob, 

What is poor man to do? 
You've got his clothes, you've got his job. 

You've got his pleasures, too; 
You've got his sports, you've got his club. 

You've got his right to vote, 
You've got him working as a sub, 

In brief — you've got his goat. 



ii6 



A SLIPPERY SCHEME 

It was a bright young preacher-man, 
Not long invested with the frock, 

That filled the matrimonial plan 
Of half the maidens of his flock. 

Which same did each in secret make 
Soft slippers for his weary feet, 

Nor dreamed her rival fair would take 
Like means to win his favor sweet. 

But when the Christmas season came, 
This proved to be the case, alack! 

The gifts that bore the preacher's name 
Were like to break, the postman's back. 

The good man gazed on the supply 
Of footgear, far beyond his need. 

And said with a regretful sigh, 

"I should have been a centipede." 



IN ANSWER 

Old Friend: You ask me if it pays. 

This using quires of paper 
And lots of ink in writing lays 

Beside the "midnight taper." 

Well, that depends; if "paying" means 

A certain money profit, 
I fear your correspondent gleans 

But very little of it. 

T17 



IN ANSWER 

But though the work no money earns 

To keep his pot a-boiling, 
He still maintains it yields returns 

That justify the toiling. 

If he can keep through life's dull way 
Some thought of fields and flowers 

To cheer his labors day by day, 
'Tis worth the "wasted" hours. 

And while some cry the road is hard. 
And o'er their lot sit sighing. 

He dons the mantle of the bard 
And takes to versifying. 




THANKS, THAT S ALL FOR THE PRESENT 



. ii8 



FROM THE 
CHILDREN'S PAGE 




'Youd scarce expect one of my age 
To speak in public on the stage" 



Selected from the author's weekly con- 
tributions to a Children's Page issued by 
The International Syndicate, Baltimore 




I20 









if^^ 



OUT OF DATE 

The little tin horn and the bright red drum 

On the toy-store shelf looked blank and glum, 

For the Christmas shoppers came and went, 

Each one on a chosen gift intent. 

And all of them readily gave their pelf 

For the brand-new things on the lower shelf, 

But nobody wanted for any sum 

The little tin horn and the bright red drum. 

The little tin horn and the bright red drum 
Watched all day long o'er the crush and hum 
Of the struggling crowds, and saw depart 
The latest toys of the makers' art, 
And heard the children clamoring, too. 
For the trains that ran and the ships that flew. 
And shrank in their corner abashed and dumb — 
The little tin horn and the bright red drum. 

The little tin horn and the bright red drum 

As the days passed by grew yet more glum. 

For the New Child sneeringly called them "slow,' 

And the Modern Boy craved "things that go;" 

So still untouched by a buyer's hand 

On the toy-store's high back shelf they stand 

And wait for the calls that never come 

For the little tin horn and the bright red drum. 



121 



DOIN' 'RITHMETIC 

When Brother's doin' 'rithmetic 
It's awful round our house, 

I have to take my book and keep 
As quiet as a mouse. 

And if his sums are hard to do, 
He makes a dreadful fuss; 

He kicks his feet and pulls his hair, 
And gets things in a muss. 

And Mama scolds like anything 

At him for gettin' mad. 
And Sister tries to help — Tell you 

When he is done we're glad. 

'Deed I am made behave so good, 

I'd jus' as lief be sick 
As be around where Brother is 

When he does 'rithmetic. 




"there's room for you" 
122 



THE NEGLECTED BOY 

There's a boy lives on our corner 
'At I watch mos' every day, 

In the street or yard or somers, 
Alius at some kind o' play. 

Muvver says 'at he's neglected. 
An' finks it an awful shame. 

But he never seems to mind it. 
For he plays on jus' the same. 

He makes dams across the gutter, 
On the curbstone plays at shop, 

Rolls his ball along the pavement. 
Flies his kite an' spins his top. 

He is alius out a-playin' 

An' so happy doin' it, 
'At I sometimes wish my muvver 

Would neglect me jus' a bit. 




CRISE S SPRING, DRUID HILL PARK 



123 



A BUSY LITTLE MAN 

Again he comes, on eager feet, 

His wagon at his heels; 
He pauses at my window seat 

And for my trade appeals. 

"'What will you have?" I hear him ask 
In brisk, storekeeper voice; 

And I must lay aside my task 
And gravely make my choice. 

And he, as I each package name, 

As gravely hands it out; 
Then, with my note in pay for same, 

He hurries on his route. 

For cash, it seems, he little cares — 
He knows my word is good; 

And so I question not his wares 
As strict housekeepers should. 

I fear the coffee that I buy 
Is pebbles, picked with care; 

I dare not in the sugar pry. 
For only sand is there. 

My beefsteak is a sorry show — 

I think it must be bone; 
And for a loaf of bread I know 

He's wrapped me up a stone. 

But, bless his heart! I help his play 

In every way I can; 
And so he labors through the day 

A busy little man. 

124 



A PRACTICAL YOUNG LADY 

There once was a child of our Grandmother Eve 

Who never was willing to play make-believe; 

When a game was suggested this practical miss 

Was full of objections to that and to this. 

If told that a chair was a fast motor car 

In which she must speed on a journey afar, 

She would straightway declare that it couldn't be so; 

"It's a chair," she would say, "not a car, as you know. 

"But imagine it's one," they would plead in despair; 

It was all to no purpose, a chair was a chair, 

And her obstinate humor would break up the play — 

It's a terrible thing to be born that-a-way! 



AN ARTIST 

He begs my pencil, takes my store 
Of paper clean and white. 

Then laid full length upon the floor 
He draws with great delight. 

A very shaky looking square. 
With pointed box outlined. 

Portrays a house and garden fair 
To his artistic mind. 

Two dots within a wobbly ring. 
Five strokes made anyhow, 

And might be called most anything. 
He tells me is a cow. 

An upright stick with knob-like head 

And arms, I name a tree. 
But hear with crushing scorn instead 

That it is meant for me. 

125 




THE CASCADE 



SMOOTHING THE WAY 

I had such a nice time, Mama, 
At the party where I went; 

All the girls were fixed up lovely, 
But we had an accident. 

We had cream, and we just ate it 
Sitting round most anywhere. 

And one girl she got up talking 
And put hers down on a chair. 



And the talk got so exciting. 
She forgot her ice-cream quite, 

126 



SMOOTHING THE WAY 

And first thing she sat down in it — 
My, it made her dress a sight! 

Do you think they ought to scold her 
'Cause she spoiled her nice new dress? 

She was only little, Mama, 
Just about my age, I guess. 

No? That's like my precious Mama, 

I was sure you would agree. 
And I'm glad to hear you say so, 

For that little girl was me. 




IX THE ROBBERS DEN 



127 



THE CIRCUS PARADE 

Of all the things there are to see, 

The circus seems the best to me, 

And when it comes to our town 

My mama always takes me down 

To where the big parade goes by, 

And there we stand and watch it — My! 

But it is fine! Van after van 

Fixed up with gold, all spick and span. 

And drawn by horses sleek and strong, 

With bands of music move along; 

And they have open cages, too. 

With bars across where you look through 

And see the bears, all rough and brown. 

And tigers pacin' up and down. 

And lions with long yellow hair, 

That look with such a scornful air. 

As if they thought you was too small 

For them to care about at all; 

And they have clowns a-doin' stunts, 

And lots of wobbly elefunts. 

And men on camels ridin' free. 

And rockin' like ships do at sea, 

And all with flags and banners bright — 

I think it's just the grandest sight! 



NOT TO BE FOOLED 

At Easter when we kids had eggs, the baby had one too, 
But broke his right away, of course, just as we knew he'd do. 
Then Mama said she'd fool him, and she took a ball she had 
And dyed it like she did the eggs and thought he would be glad; 
But Gee! you wouldn't think a kid could such a rumpus make, 
He yelled and yelled like anything because it wouldn't break. 

128 



m s 









;^'^ ' 



*-"-vS-»«tew.;-. 





,..<>•; » ''-. »■ 



WHEN DOGWOOD BLOOMS 



129 




THE RIVER ROAD, BELOW ELLICOTT CITY 



130 



COMPANY COMIN' 

There's company comin', it's easy to see, 
They're scrubbin' an' cleanin' as hard as can be; 
They're straight'nin' the rooms up above an' below, 
An' puttin' the best things out where they can show. 

There's company comin'; Ma's brushin' her clothes, 
An' Sister's a-washin' an' pressin' her bows. 
An' Baby's been polished an' powdered an' dressed. 
An' I heard 'em tell Pa he must put on his best. 

There's company comin'; I ain't got a doubt 
But I'll have to fix up if they catch me about. 
An' go an' get washed an' put on my new suit 
An' set on a chair like a dummy, to boot. 

There's company comin'; I'll hustle away 

Before anybody can tell me to stay. 

An' I'll keep out of sight so there won't be no row — 

I guess they ain't crazy to see me nohow. 



THE BROOMSTICK HORSE 

Hi, there! Somebody stop him, pray! 
The broomstick horse is running away; 
He's plunging and tearing around the lawn, 
I marvel his master can still hold on. 

Here they come at a frantic pace. 
The rider's curls blown back from his face; 
Hat, too, gone and his clothes awry, 
But a desperate courage is in his eye. 

Ha! he has conquered; he draws the rein. 
Broomstick horse, you struggle in vain; 
Prance as you will and try to go. 
Your master can manage you. Whoa, sir, whoa! 



131 




A UNIQUE FOOTBRIDGE 



THE LITTLE GARDENER 

On sturdy legs I see him go 
Across the grass, with rake and hoe, 
To where his patch of garden Hes, 
In which with simple faith he tries 
To raise each blessed thing that grows, 
And puts the seed in rows on rows, 
Then in a brief while digs it out 
To see if it's begun to sprout; 
And when a shoot of green appears. 
He waves his hat and gives three cheers, 
And drags in everyone around 
To see what's growing in his ground; 
Then digs again with freshened zeal, 
And gathers dirt from head to heel. 
And like the plants of his own soil 
Grows strong and healthy with the toil. 



132 




OLD MILL ON GWYNN S FALLS 



THE BUSY CARPENTER 

Bang! bang! his tireless hammer rings, 
The while he whistles, hums or sings. 
Or sets to sawing with a will. 
That more of vigor shows than skill. 
Or takes his chisel up and knocks 
The corners from a lot of blocks. 
For this belief his reason grips, 
"The proof of work is lots of chips." 
And so he hammers and he saws 
And builds, according to his laws. 
Things we could hardly give a name 
If we were asked to judge the same, 
But which bring him unmeasured joy 
And keep him still a busy boy, 
Content and happy day by day — 
So let him saw and bang away. 



133 



MAKING SURE OF IT 

Where I went down town with Mama they had Santa In a 

store, 
Dressed up like you always see him, walking up and down the 

floor. 
And they said if you would tell him what you wanted him to 

bring. 
When he came around on Christmas you'd get every single 

thing. 

So I told him that I wanted most a nice big fancy doll. 
One with lots of pretty dresses, hat and gloves and parasol; 
And he said he'd see I got it but I must be very good. 
And be sure to learn my lessons and mind Mama as I should. 

Then we went a little further, to the next store in the square. 
And no sooner were we in it than we saw a Santa there; 
And it got me awful puzzled, till I stopped and thought it out,. 
And I saw that just one Santa never could get all about. 

Course there must be plenty of them, like policemen on a beat,. 
And I wondered if the first one that I told would have our 

street, 
'Cause if they should send the other, how would he know what 

to do? 
So to have my doll for certain, why I told that Santa, too. 



EXPLAINING HIS FAILURE 

No, sir; it's not that I am dumb 
When I miss lessons every day; 

It's 'cause I know so awful much 
I don't know what is best to say. 

1.34 



CHRISTMAS MORNING 

All his dreams he sees come true, 
There's his drum and book and ball. 

Soldier cap and broadsword, too. 
And his brave steed, best of all. 

Little wonder that he crows 

As he clambers to a seat. 
Since his day no shadow knows; 

Christmas is for him complete. 

Now in fancy he is off 

On a gallop through the town; 
Grownups, you who at him scoff. 

Way there! or he'll ride you down. 



NOT A SUCCESS 

Mama, please look at my dolly. 
Do you fink she'll dry out right? 

Will her cheeks be ever rosy, 
An' her hair get shiny bright? 

What I done? Why I dess washed her 
Like I see cook do for you; 

She was oh! so awful dirty. 

An' I fought she would look new. 

So I put her in the washtub 
An' I scrubbed hard as I could. 

Made a lot of soapsuds on her, 
But it didn't do no good. 

For she won't get clean an' whitey 
Like fings alius do for cook. 

An' the harder 'at I scrub her 
She will only worser look. 

i3S 




" what's coming now ? 



THE NOBLE FIREMEN 

Clang! clang! The firemen's gong I hear; 
Dear me! it must be somewhere near; 
Yes, here they come at tearing pace, 
And making for this very place. 

Though not apparent to my gaze. 
It seems our porch is all ablaze, 
And up they dash and fall to work. 
The firemen who no duty shirk. 

With pasteboard ax they hack the beams, 
And pour imaginary streams 



136 



THE NOBLE FIREMEN 

On what, according to their fuss, 

Must be a fire most dangerous. 

ft 

But see! the leader calls a rest, 

The flames no doubt have been suppressed; 

They load their wagon to depart, 

Each having played a gallant part. 

Stay! Mary, cake I pray you bring, 
I think 'twould be the proper thing 
To treat the firemen quick and brave 
Who helped our property to save. 




STONY RUN, WYMAN PARK 



137 



AN AFTER-CHRISTMAS COMPLAINT 

Dear Santy: I'm sure I don't want to complain, 

For the things that you brought were as nice as could be. 

The rifle is "dandy" and so is the train, 

But I hardly can feel they were given to me. 

For Papa and Uncle play with them all day, 

My Papa believes he's a wonderful shot; 
My rifle he takes and goes banging away. 

No matter if I'want to try it or not. 

And Uncle's as bad with the train, I declare, 

He's always a-running it over the track; 
If I have it a minute he's saying, "Take care," 

And worries and stews till he's gotten it back. 

And so I am asking you, Santy Claus, dear. 

Though I love to get toys, please, whatever you do. 

Don't bring anything for a present next year 
Unless you bring Papa and Uncle one too. 



THE ROCK-A-BYE TRAIN 

Oh, who is for taking the Rock-a-bye train 

That runs through to Dreamville by Slumberland plain? 

It starts every night, when the sun has gone down. 

From the shadowy portals of Sleepyhead town; 

The riding is easy, the coach superfine. 

And faithful old Sandman has charge of the line. 

There is no noisy rattle — it's really a boon — 

You travel along to a low pleasant croon; 

And the fare is a trifle you hardly would miss. 

It's only the giving of one good-night kiss — 

What? Baby is going? Ho, Sandman, remain! 

I've a passenger here for the Rock-a-bye train. 

138 




< 

pa. 
w 

< 



< 






139 




w 



1 40 



A TALE OF A VALENTINE 

Come all you little girls and boys and listen while I tell 
About a comic valentine and what thereby befell: 
This valentine, as you will learn, was sent out by a boy 
Unto his teacher good and kind with purpose to annoy. 

She had been scolding him because his work was getting worse. 

So he sent her a valentine — one with a horrid verse; 

And when he went to bed that night his dreams were strange 

and rare, 
That valentine he thought such fun gave him an awful scare. 

He found himself within a shop of most prodigious size 
All hung with monster valentines with dreadful staring eyes, 
And as he looked in terror each stepped down from out its 

place 
And gathered with the others there a-grinning in his face. 

And when with fear-bound lips he tried to raise a cry for aid. 
The ugly, leering troop struck up a frightful serenade; 
They all broke out in screechy voice and sang the foolish lines 
That had been printed on their sheets as comic valentines. 

The din was something terrible — a hundred graphophones 
And noisy automobile horns, mixed up with ghostly groans. 
Could scarcely make so fierce a sound as smote upon his ear 
When all the transformed valentines began their discord queer. 

And as they pressed around him they reached out and tweaked 

his nose. 
Or tramped with their big, clumsy feet upon his tender toes, 
Till with the pain he wakened — and 'twas Mama by his bed 
A-puUing at his toes and saying, "Get up, you sleepy head." 

And as he realized that he was safe at home and well, 
A feeling of deep thankfulness caused his glad heart to swell; 
He hugged his Mama dear and cried, "I'll learn my lessons fine 
And never, never send again a comic valentine!" 

141 




THE BLUE POND, OFF WILKENS AVENUE 

AN OPEN WINTER 

I don't like this open Winter 
When we have no ice nor snow; 

Gimme good ole frosty weather, 
Let the nippin' north winds blow. 

Then the ponds an' streams are covered 

With a solid sheet of ice, 
An' we skate for weeks together, 

Not a stingy once or twice. 

Gimme snow an' plenty of it, 

Not these squalls that's worse than none; 
Here's Spring just around the corner 

An' we've had no coastin' fun. 

Made no snow men like we used to. 

Haven't rolled a single ball — 
Shucks! to me this open Winter 

Ain't no wintertime at all. 



142 



A DREADFUL SHOCK 

Good gracious! what a shock is this! 
I surely must have heard amiss — 
Our daughter, our delight, our bliss, 

■ A suffragette? 
She who oft hears the words I use 
When reading of them in the News; 
Who knows my most decided views — 
Absurd; and yet, 

When I went forth awhile ago, 
My ballot in the scale to throw, 
I found her at the door below 

With hat and coat. 
I greeted her in manner gay; 
"Good morning, sweetheart, where away?' 
She took my hand, I heard her say, 

"Me want to vote!" 




AT THE Zoo, DRl'U) lUI.L PARK 



143 



AN IGNORAMUS 

Some boys they never seem to know 
Where things are found or how they grow; 
There's lots they read about in books 
That they can't tell you how it looks. 

Why there's a boy next door to me 
W^ho is as dumb as he can be, 
Except at 'rithmetic and such, 
An' then I don't know half as much. 

But names of bugs an' birds an' bees, 
An' kinds of flowers an' of trees. 
When grapes are ripe, when chestnuts fall, 
An' such things, he can't tell at all. 

Where worms are found, where fishes hide. 
He couldn't tell you if he tried; 
Nor when the robins come about. 
Or when the buttercups peep out. 

The place to look for moss or fern,. 
An' things a boy can't help but learn, 
He knows no more of than a cat — 
I'm glad I ain't as dumb as that! 



ON THE JOB 

The boy who more than half the year 
Makes breakfast wait a lot, 

W^e find, now buckwheat time is iicre. 
Is Johnny-on-the-spot. 

144 



THE WINTER WALK 

Some people say that Summer is the only time to walk 
Or be outdoors, but Pop and me we don't believe that talk; 
Why we go out the coldest days and tramp an hour or two. 
And we see lots and lots of things that stay-homes never do. 

And if the birds are gone away and all the flowers are dead. 
The woods are full of evergreens and berries bright and red, 
And crows are flying round the fields and calling far and loud, 
Or gathering in the tree-tops like a big convention crowd. 

And rabbits run across the road and scamper off so shy, 

Or maybe squirrels, on some high limb, peep at you quick and 
sly; 

And when the wind blows round the hill the leaves fly every- 
where. 

Or whirl off like a flock of birds upon the frosty air. 

And if, when we're a-walking out, it should begin to snow. 
We button up and hike along till we are all aglow. 
And when we get back home again we look so fresh and strong 
That folks say, "My, but you look fine, I wish I'd went along." 



SKATING WEATHER 

Jolly skating weather, sparkling, clear and cold; 
Frozen ponds a-plenty for the skaters bold. 
See the happy youngsters! rosy boy and girl. 
On the ice-bound streamlet in a merry whirl. 
Joyful shouts and laughter ring upon the air; 
No one heeds a tumble, no one has a care. 
Swift young feet are flying, skates flash in the sun. 
Ears and noses tingle, but it's splendid fun. 



145 




A CARLOAD OF KIDS 



A TOY-BREAKER'S DREAM 

There once was a youngster whose chiefest of joys 

Was breaking or taking to pieces his toys; 

Whatever he had, whether costly or cheap, 

It was soon only fit to throw on the junk heap; 

And once on a time when asleep in his bed 

A horrible dream entered into his head: 

He found himself shut in a vast crowded shop 

That was full of wrecked playthings from bottom to top. 

Save a space for a bench that was placed at one end. 

And a shelf full of tools and materials to mend; 

Where a great horrid creature took him in a grip 

And shook o'er his shoulders a long cruel whip, 

And putting him down at the bench grimly said, 

"Get to work mending toys, you've got plenty ahead; 

I'll give you an hour to finish the lot. 

And if they're not ready you'll get something hot." 



146 



A TOY-BREAKER'S DREAM 

The badly scared youngster began with a groan 

On a piece he remembered as one of his own, 

But the glue wouldn't stick and the nails wouldn't hold, 

And the soldering iron was continually cold; 

And strive as he would he could get nothing made, 

And the hour slipped by and the whip round him played. 

But before a blow fell he awoke with a scream 

And found to his comfort 'twas only a dream; 

And he thankfully cried, "From this time I declare, 

I won't break up my toys, but will keep them with care." 




AN AUTUMN BYWAY 



147 



THE SNOW-MAN AND THE SUN 

The stuck-up Snow-Man glared at the Sun, 

As if he would question why 
His noble shape should be looked upon 

By the Sun with scornful eye. 

And the angry Sun glared back at him 

And flushed to a deeper red, 
Then smiled at the Snow-Man's foolish whim 

And passed on his way o'erhead. 

And playfully down on the Snow-Man's face 

The Sun sent his warmest beam, 
Till the helpless Snow-Man raged in his place, 

And the tears began to stream. 

And the Snow-Man cried in his wrath and pain. 

And his form grew frail and thin, 
And he saw that he never would be again 

The man that he once had been. 

And at last when the Sun went down at night. 

At the edge of the distant wood, 
There was only a little mound of white 

To show where the Snow-Man stood. 



PLAYING INDIANS 

Indians on the warpath, better not go out; 
Stealthy-footed warriors prowling all about. 
After brave scout Harry, get him, too, I guess — 
My! don't they look savage in their fighting dress? 
Captured sister's dolly, shot the Teddy bear. 
Gracious, how they're yelling, almost raise your hair. 
Must have found poor Harry — what a dreadful fate; 
There he goes a captive through the garden gate; 
Doomed to cruel torture and to taunting shout — 
Indians on the warpath, better not go out. 

148 




149 




150 



WHEN LINCOLN WAS A BOY 

"Was Lincoln ever like a boy?" 

Why certainly, my son; 
Although he owned no game or toy, 

He no doubt had his fun. 

As we are told, he liked the sort 

Of things boys like today; 
He run and wrestled, loved all sport 

And rough-and-tumble play. 

And though his life was plain and poor, ^ 

He somehow got along. 
And spite of hardships that he bore 

He grew up big and strong. 

His days at school were few indeed. 

His books were fewer still. 
And yet he learned to spell and read. 

Because he had the will. 

No candle-light could he afford. 

Nor paper e'en acquire; 
He wrote and ciphered on a board 

Before his cabin fire. 

He hired out to the farmers round. 

To cut their rails and wood, 
Or husk the corn, or plough the ground. 

To get his clothes and food. 

When forced a journey far to make, 

He mostly had to walk. 
No swift car then was there to take. 

Or telephone to talk. 

Be glad for days more smoothly spent 

And blessings you enjoy. 
For things were vastly different 

With Lincoln when a boy. 



151 




t^p**,^ 



AN UNDAUNTED HIKER 

THE FROST ELVES 

When you and I have gone to bed, 
Safe in the land of Drowsyhead, 
The tiny frost elves venture out 
And work and frolic all about. 

They ride down on the passing breeze 
And snip the dead leaves from the trees, 
And flowers by the garden wall 
Just feel their breath and down they fall. 

They seek the stream, and in a trice 
Have built a bridge of crystal ice, 



15- 



THE FROST ELVES 

And leave it there for our delight 

When day brings back the morning bright. 

And sometimes they get very bold 
And come and fill the house with cold; 
Through cracks in doors and windows creep 
And nip our noses where we sleep. 

And sometimes, with a brush of air, 
They fill the panes with pictures rare. 
And all the while they move around 
So quiet you can't hear a sound. 





^\'HE^• FIELDS ARE WHITE 



^53 



IMITATING BROTHER 

Why, Lucy Matilda Elizabeth Green! 
Your conduct is scandalous — What do you mean? 
Your hands to the floor and your heels in the air 
And trying to stand on your head by the chair! 

You saw "bruvver" do it. Well, what if you did? 
You surely don't think you can follow that kid; 
Such stunts to a boy are as easy as pie 
But it isn't the thing for young ladies to try. 

I'm glad that your mother was not here to see, 
I know she'd be shocked and I'm sure she'd scold me; 
So please don't attempt things you see brother do 
Or there'll be lots of trouble a-coming to you. 



THE GALLANT SOLDIERS 

Ha! here the gallant soldiers come, 
With flying flag and sounding drum; 
A wooden sword their leader wears 
And each a broomstick musket bears. 

In truth they make a noble show, 
As forth they march to meet the foe; 
Their fearless captain undismayed 
Points onward with his good stout blade. 

"Forward," he cries, and forth they rush 
To charge at hedge and tree and brush. 
And drive the fancied foe afar, 
And bravely wage their mimic war. 

Then back they come, the battle o'er. 
Each one has slain at least a score — 
Ah, who could fear while such a band 
Remains to watch and guard the land? 

154 



TELLIN' TIME 

Tellin' time is hard, I bet you. 
You can't learn it in a day; 

It's the figgers that upset you. 
Each hand counts a diff'rent way. 

Little Hand he shows the hour, 
I, II, III, just where he's at; 
Big Hand has twelve times the power. 
Counts five, ten, fifteen, like that. 

And Big Hand he goes a-leapin' 
All around the clock's whole face. 

While poor Little Hand is creepin' 
Over one small hour's space. 

An' each hour-mark Big Hand passes 
Means five minutes an' no more. 

So that II as ten he classes. 
An' counts twenty when at IV. 

An' Big Hand when he's a-goin' 
Down to VI from XII above. 

Minutes after is a-showin', 
VI to XII shows minutes of. 

Right side runs from five to thirty. 
Left side thirty back to five. 

An' the boy that ain't alert, he 
Will get mixed sure's you're alive. 



THE W^EATHER PROPHET 

A lot he weather man must know. 

He studies 'bout the air 
An' says if it don't rain or snow 

It probably will be fair. 

155 




THE VILLAGE STREET, HILLSDALE 

A HUGE JOKE 

Last Fourth we had fun, I tell you; I was up by break of day. 
Out an' scoutin' round for Billy — he's my chum, across the 

way; 
We had made a "giant cracker," not a real one, understand, 
Just a make-believe of paper for some fun that we had planned. 
We had found an empty mail tube that for size was zactly 

right. 
And we took some dark red paper an' put round it smooth an' 

tight; 
Stuffed the end up, put a fuse in made of cord, an' when 'twas 

done. 
You believe me it looked dandy — would a-fooled most anyone. 
There was goin' to be some doin' on the lawn beside the school, 
An' 'fore long the folks all gathered, sittin' round there nice 

and cool. 



156 



A HUGE JOKE 

When we sneaks up with our "giant," lights the fuse and yells, 

"Look out!" 
Soon's they saw it they went runnin' an' a-tumblin' all about. 
Mr. Jones, though, he played hero, jumped on our old cracker, 

bing! 
Stamped the fuse out, mashed the tube in, just completely 

wrecked the thing; 
But when he saw how we'd fooled him with a dummy he 

looked daft, 
An' the whole crowd got around him an' we laughed an' 

laughed an' laughed. 




THE TUNNEL BRIDGE, ILCHESTER 



157 



A FREAK 

What! Don't know baseball? Never play? 

Well, for the love of Mike ! 
Where did you come from, anyway? 

Who ever heard the like? 

Why baseball is a thing, I thought, 

That kids just have to know; 
I can't remember bein' taught, 

It seemed to kinder grow. 

Say, you don't know how much you've missed- 

Baseball's the only game. 
The best, the first one on the list, 

To it the rest are tame. 

You've been neglected, I'm afraid. 

But come along with me; 
I'll show you where the game is played 

The way it ought to be. 

The gang to teach you will be glad, 

If what you say is true; 
Gee whiz! I never thought earth had 

As big a freak as you. 



FIRST ONE IN 

See the happy youngsters racing through the wood. 
For the old loved water, where the swimming's good. 
Now they're at the pool side, and with shout and jest. 
Each strives in undressing to outdo the rest. 
Now white Hmbs a moment in the sunlight gleam, 
As a lithe young body cleaves the glassy stream. 
Then a head emerges, and above the din 
Rings the cry of triumph, "I'm the first one in!" 



158 




IN SILHOUETTE— SUNRISE ON THE SASSAFRAS 



159 




REFLECTED BEAUTY 



1 60 



A DISGUSTED PATRIOT 

Like to know what's wrong with people, 
Way they act gives me a pain, 

With their talk of no more fireworks. 
An' a Fourth that's safe an' sane. 

Won't "permit" us shootin' crackers, 

Nor skyrockets on a stick, 
Roman candles, they're "unlawful" — 

Bah! their old laws make me sick. 

Let me, mebbe, have a pistol. 

With a little sissy cap, 
'Bout as good as strikin' matches; 

Truck like that ain't worth a rap. 

Teacher says this is our birthday. 
An' "we should observe the date;" 

What's the use of talkin' that way 
Then not let us celebrate? 



MOST TOO REAL 

We was playin' horses jus' the other day. 
An' I was the driver, as we 'greed to play. 

Johnny he was harnessed as the horse, you know, 
But he cut up balky — didn't want to go. 

An' he kept a-backin' an' a-prancin' round. 
Wouldn't let me drive him, but a way I found. 

For while he was r'arin', I picked up a stick 
An' to stop his antics I give him a lick. 

Not a hard one, mind you, jus' a little crack; 

My! the way he hollered, thought I'd broke his back. 

He was all for quittin', cried it wasn't fair — 

I said, "They whip horses when they pitch and r'ar." 

i6i 




THE EXPLORERS — GULLY ON WASHINGTON ROAD 

COIN' BAREFOOT 

My! I'm glad when Summer comes 
An' we're done with books an' sums, 
An' we pack our things an' go 
Out to visit Uncle Joe. 

He lives in the country far 
Where no streets or trolleys are, 
An' us kids we run an' play 
Happy, barefoot, all the day. 



You believe me it's some fun 
To get off your shoes and run 
Down the long an' dusty lane 
To the road and back again. 

162 



GOIN' BAREFOOT 

Or to paddle in the pool 
From the spring, so clear an' cool, 
Tramp around jus' where you will, 
Crost the meadow, up the hill. 

Gettin' scratched by briars a bit, 
Mebbe, but not mindin' it. 
Till you feel so fine an' free 
You'll say, "No more shoes for me!" 




A GLIMPSE OF THE BIG ARCHES 
PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD BRIDGE OVER GWYNn's FALLS 



163 



THE GOBLINS 

Who said that elves were banished? 

That goblins were no more? 
That sprites and fays had vanished 

From all their haunts of yore? 

Not so. They surely flourish 
As in their golden prime, 

And Hallowe'en they cherish 
As their most joyous time. 

They frolic then about us 

In queerest garments dressed; 

From hidden places flout us 
With merry prank and jest. 

Now on the window tapping, 

Now at the door so sly; 
We startle from our napping 

And look, but none is nigh. 

And if we caught a party 
Amid their fun and noise, 

We'd find the goblins hearty 
Were just our girls and boys. 



A LONESOME KID 

I'm glad 'at school don't last all day — 

Not 'cause I has to go — 
For all I do is run an' play; 

I'm too small yet, you know. 

But round the street 'at I live on 
There ain't no kids like me, 

An' when the rest to school have gone 
I'm lonesome as can be. 

164 



A LONESOME KID 

/ 
Till 'long 'bout, mebbe, four o'clock, 

When I hear bruvver shout, 

An' see him tearin' down the block, 

Then I know school is out. 

An' all our crowd of girls an' boys 

Come out to play again. 
An' everywhere is fun and noise 

An' I ain't lonesome then. 



JOHNNY JUMP-UP 

There's a brisk little youngster we know. 
And Johnny's his name, by the way, 

He jumps up, all ready to go. 

Though called twenty times in a day. 

He jumps up to hand you a chair. 
He jumps up to open the door. 

He jumps up your bundles to bear. 
He jumps up to run to the store. 

He jumps up and puts on his clothes 
The minute he's roused from his bed. 

He jumps up and straight to school goes. 
With lessons all studied or read. 

And because he's so lively and bright. 

And always so ready to run, 
By people who know him aright 

He's called "Johnny Jump-up" for fun. 

165 




PIGS IS PIGS 



GOING TO THE COUNTRY 

We're a-goin' to the country where the trees an' flowers grow, 
Papa said 'at he would take us an' he'll do it, too, I know; 
We will get aboard the trolley an' go whirlin' far away 
To the woods so green an' shady an' the fields where I can 
play. 

For nobody owns the country, or at least they doesn't care. 
An' you go just where you want to, on the grass or anywhere; 
An' they let you pull the flowers an' chase after butterflies; 
An' its all so big an' open — nothin' but the fields and skies. 

An' we'll take a lunch-box with us an' we'll set down by a 

spring. 
An' the way we'll eat sandwiches — bet we never leave a thing; 
An' we'll just loaf an' enjoy it, hear the birds an' watch the 

bees — 
My, but I am glad we're goin' — I can almost smell the breeze! 



1 66 




AN ARISTOCRATIC BROOD 

THE ALARM CLOCK 

Once I went out in the country with Mama to visit Aunt Sue, 
She lives away off in the mountains, and to me it was all strange 

and new. 
It was bedtime when we got to Aunty's, and I asked them how 

we would tell 
When 'twas time to get up in the morning, for there wasn't a 

a clock or a bell. 
Aunt Sue said, "Oh, you needn't worry, we've got an alarm 

clock, a prize, 
That comes round the house every morning and calls till you 

open your eyes." 
I wondered what she could be meaning, but no one would tell 

me a word, 
And I woke up at daybreak half frightened by the awfulest 

noise that I heard. 
.1 jumped up and ran to the window and took a peep out 

through the pane. 
And there was a big old red rooster, crowing and crowing again! 

167 



SONG OF THE SNOWFLAKES 

We hurry forth 

From the icy north, 
A swift and silent band, 

And ride the blast 

In numbers vast 
When the Storm-King gives command. 

We flutter down 

From the mountain's crown 
And haste o'er the frozen plains, 

And we dance and leap 

To the winds that sweep 
Through the city streets and lanes. 

We bring fresh joys 

To girls and boys 
Who laugh at Winter's chill, 

And we make a bed 

For the flying sled 
Where we rest on the coasting hill. 

We gather force 

And steer our course 
Where the smoke of trafiic trails. 

And curb the speed 

Of the iron steed 
As we cover his gleaming rails. 

From place to place 

We fly apace 
Till we see the wintry sun 

Peer from the sky. 

Like a fiery eye. 
Then we know our race is run. 




169 




i4 
o 

iz: 
W 
o 
I— > 

o 

w 

o 

Q 

o 

w 

^r 

o 

H 
fa 

u 



170 



THE BRAVE YOUNG GENERAL 

The brave young General mounts his steed and holds his good 

sword high, 
A dauntless courage is in his breast and victory in his eye; 
"Men, follow me!" I hear him call, though never my eyes 

behold 
A sign of the troops that should arise at the voice of their leader 

bold. 

And never I get a glimpse of the foes he crushes and puts to 
flight. 

Nor the host of warriors hurt or slain in the course of the stub- 
born fight; 

But the General sees them all, I know, and a conqueror's pr.de 
he feels 

As he sits on the back of his painted horse, erect on its wooden 
wheels. 

And so he plays at his soldiering and battles throughout the 

day, 
And harries the ranks of his enemies till he drives them far 

away; 
For when you are playing at make-believe you never can lose, 

it seems, 
But are ever a triumphing hero brave, as we all are in our 

dreams. 



GOOD REASONING 

Papa says that I'm a reg'lar little 'terrogation sign, 
Says I ask so many questions he can hardly read a line. 
Huh! I'd like to know how Papa found out all the fings he 

knows; 
If he hadn't ast folks questions, would he learned 'em, do you 

s'pose? 

171 




EARLY SPRING I\ DRUID KILL PARK 

SPRING IS COMING BACK AGAIN 

Spring is coming back again, 
Robins tell it clear and plain. 
Bluebirds sing it from the trees. 
You can feel it in the breeze. 

Pussywillows now put out, 
Golden dandelions sprout. 
And the grass each day is seen 
In a brighter suit of green. 

Soon the boys and girls will go 
To the woods they love and know. 
There to pick the violet. 
By the noisy brooklet set; 

Or will seek the steep hillsides 
Where the honeysuckle bides. 
And the dogwood blossoms say, 
"Spring is here — come out and play!" 



172 




WESTERN RUN AT MT. WASHINGTON 



KEPT IN 

Without the sun is shining bright, 

The air is soft and bland, 
The blooming fields and woods invite 

To loiter through the land. 

Besides the stream the children play, 

The birds in chorus sing. 
The new-leaved trees their branches sway 

Like fingers beckoning. 

But he, he bends above his book, 

With heavy head and heart; 
He hears the shouting by the brook 

And longs to bear a part. 

He may not join the merry throng 

And boyish triumphs win; 
For him the day is dark and long, 

For he has been kept in. 

17.3 



A DOUBTFUL STORY 

I believe my Papa, what he says is true, 
But he telled a story. Mama finks so too; 
Xause I had a rooster, not a righty one. 
Jus' a fing of paper wif some feafers on. 
An' on Easter evenin' took it to my crib. 
An' it was next mornin' Papa telled a fib. 
For he said to IN^ama, he his bed would keep 
But my rooster crowed so 'at he couldn't sleep! 



THE CROW 

The crow he wears a coat of black. 
He has but one suit to his back, 
Which he must wear from week to week, 
And still he looks well fed and sleek. 
At getting food much skill he shows. 
As very well the farmer knows. 
For when the corn is in the ground. 
The crows are sure to come around. 
And 'fore it has a chance to sprout 
They dig right in and pick it out. 

But crows, for all their cunning schemes, 

Are very easy fooled, it seems; 

A bit of string around a patch 

They think is something meant to catch. 

And stakes dressed up to look like men 

Will scare them time and time again. 

Why once our hired man told a yarn, 

When he was working round our barn, 

About some crows he scared so bad. 

With scarecrows that his father had 

That they brought back the corn they stole 

And put each grain into its hole. 

And he, the hired man, said 'twas irue. 

But I don't think it was; do you? 



174 



THE RABBIT 

The rabbit is a scary thing, 

He doesn't mew or bark or sing, 

Or make a noise of any kind 

As far as I could ever find; 

And when he leaves his hole or nook 

He starts to listen and to look; 

He'll hop along the ground a bit 

And then upon his haunches sit, 

And raise his ears and spread them out 

And listen, listen all about; 

And if he hears the slightest sound 

He's off without a look around. 

And hustles home near out of breath 

And always scared almost to death — • 

He'd have a lot of fun, I guess. 

If he played more and listened less. 



THE PIG 

The pig he is an ugly brute. 
He doesn't do a thing but root; 
And if he has a great big farm 
Where he can root and do no harm, 
He's sure to come a-pokin' round 
The garden or some spot of ground 
From which you want to keep him out, 
And tear the things up with his snout; 
It keeps you busy all the day 
A-tryin' to drive him away. 
I guess, though, he ain't much to blame, 
For human folks are just the same; 
We do the things we shouldn't do 
And go where we're forbidden, too. 

175 



SCHOOL AGAIN 

School again! Doggone it all, 

Seems like yesterday 
That we left the study hall 

For vacation play. 

Somehow looks like school begins 

Just about the time 
Fruit is ripe an' chinkypins 

Are a-gettin' prime. 

When the fish are bitin' fine 
In the ponds an' brooks. 

You must lay aside your line 
An' take up your books. 




THAT job's finished, WHAt's NEXT? 



176 



e3<3!S®®®e®<SQ®®ee®3ie®®e®3axs(M®®s®®e®see®es®®eeee 



IN PEACE AND WAR 

OCCASIONAL VERSES 
BALLADS OF THE NAVY 
TALES TOLD IN RHYME 




WHEN THE SUNSHINE TRAIL IS CLOSED 



(2XS<3®®S®S®S®®3333)®3©®333S3®S3®333333S3333®333®33333®333®®®®(2)(2^^ 




178 




M 



"RUN TO THE HILLS!" 

Destruction of Johnstown (Pa.) May 31, 1889. by the bursting of a dam. 
The incident here celebrated Is now said to have no foundation. 

"Run to the hills! Run to the hills!" 
Through the doomed valley the warning it thrills, 
Cried by a rider, whose foam-covered steed 
Carries him onward with marvelous speed, 
Bearing the news to the populous town 
Of the death-dealing deluge hurrying down. 
Shouting his cry, through the gathering gloom 
The messenger hurries, a herald of doom; 
Behind him the waters are rushing along 
Like a legion of tigers, blood-hungry and strong; 
And on through the valley that warning it thrills, 
"Run to the hills! Run to the hills!" 

"Run to the hills! Run to the hills!" 

It rings through the streets, all the city it fills, 

Preceding the rush of the terrible flood. 

That signal of danger, but half understood, 

Received with a jest or incredulous jeer, 

Scoffed at and doubted when death was so near; 

Yet ever along on unwavering course 

The messenger flies on his furious horse. 

And nearer and clearer is heard the roar 

Of the mighty torrent he flies before; 

And on through the city that warning it thrills, 

"Run to the hills! Run to the hills!" 



179 



"RUN TO THE HILLS!" 

"Run to the hills! Run to the hills!" 

Faces it blanches and pulses it stills, 

As the mountainous wave, resistless and wide. 

Pours over the city its merciless tide. 

And the seething, surging, angry flood, 

Tearing through iron and stone and wood. 




THE HILLSIDE WALK, G\\VN\ S FALLS PARK 

Roaring and raging, onward sweeps. 

Piling the dead in horrible heaps. 

Grasping the horse and his rider brave. 

Dragging them under its pitiless wave; 

While o'er the mad waters that warning it thrills, 

"Run to the hills! Run to the hills!" 



"RUN TO THE HILLS!" 

"Run to the hills! Run to the hills!" 

This was the greatest of latter-day ills! 

Thousands of souls swept away to their death; 

Millions in property gone at a breath. 

The blackness of woe overshadows the place, 

And mourning and sorrow are seen on each face. 




OLD CARROLL MANSION, WYMAN PARK 

Would they had paid to that warning more heed! 
Would we could honor the man for his deed! 
But deaf is he now to all honor and fame, 
'Tis even denied us to cherish his name; 
Brave unknown rider! Still his cry thrills, 
"Run to the hills! Run to the hills!" 



i«i 



THE DESTRUCTION OF THE "MAINE" 

Blown up in Havana Harbor February 15, 1898 

Up from the night of the Cuban seas 

The cable flashes a terrible tale, 
And the people wake from their dreams of ease 

And turn to the message stern-browed and pale. 
Black are the tidings that greet their ken, 

Deep are the curses on Spain's head hurled — - 
Two hundred, sixty and six good men 

And a brave stout ship blown out of the world! 

'Twas not in War's remorseless strife, 

Nay, not in battle was dealt the blow; 
In a friendly port, in the pride of life. 

They were sent to their doom by an unseen foe; 
Sent without time for a prayer or cry, 

Sent without ever a warning sign; 
One moment peace 'neath the evening sky. 

The next Death leaped from the buried mine. 

Disclaim the deed if you will, O Spain, 

And courteous sympathy, too, extend. 
But there in your bay lies our ruined Maine, 

And we can but remember her bitter end; 
For it's just like many a cruel act 

That has marked your record from first to last. 
The innocent slaughtered, the prisoner racked. 

And lands laid waste where your foot has passed. 

But now you've a different foe to face; 

'Twas on no weakling you wrought this wrong; 
You have waked the wrath of a mighty race 

And the cry for vengeance is loud and strong. 
Then gather your ships from the crimson seas, 

Muster your men on the blood-stained land; 
No more will you torture and slay as you please, 

For the hour of reckoning is at hand. 



i«2 



DEWEY AT MANILA 

Admiral Dewey destroyed Spain's Philippine fleet May i, 1898, without 
the loss of a single man. 

From China's shore they steamed away 
To where the Spanish squadron lay 
In strength within Manila Bay 

Beneath Cavite's guns. 
Their orders, "Capture or destroy," 
They knew would well their strength employ, 
Yet to the work they went with joy, 

Like Freedom's warrior sons. 

They recked not of the foeman's force. 
They scorned the dangers in their course. 
But trusting in their chief's resource. 

They entered in the bay; 
They passed by grim Corregidor, 
Slipped *tween the sleeping forts ashore, 
And through the night straight onward bore 

Where Dewey led the way. 

And when the tropic morning broke, 
And Spaniards from their slumbers woke, 
They saw his bold fleet's sombre smoke 

Against the crimson sky; 
Then to their arms they sprang in haste, 
And decks were cleared and guns were placed, 
And soon across the vapory waste 

The shells began to fly. 

But fearless Dewey no whit stayed 
For all their furious cannonade, 
But steered, in battle line arrayed. 

Through the confusion dire; 
Till as the sun burst full and red 
Above the mists that round him spread. 
He to brave Gridley turned and said, 

"When ready, you may fire!" 

1-83 



DEWEY AT MANILA 

Out blaze the ships with thunderous roar, 
Olympia first, then Baltimore^ 
Raleigh and Petrel swell the score. 

Concord and Boston, too! 
Around they go, then back again, 
While shot and shell are poured like rain, 
The cry goes up, "Think of the Maine, 

And give the dogs their due." 

Then from the stifling smoke and heat 
They for a breathing space retreat 
And break their fast ere they complete 
The victory so near won; 




THE LONG SHADOWS 



184 



DEWEY AT MANILA 

Then back they steer, the stricken foe, 
His boats afire, his men laid low, 
Prepares him for the final blow. 
And answers gun for gun. 

But Spanish ships are bathed in blood, 
And many sink beneath the flood. 
Or fast in Canacao's mud 

Become of flames the prey; 
And Dyer with the Baltimore 
Has crushed the batteries ashore, 
And Star and Stripes alone float o'er 

Wreck-strewn Manila Bay. 




AN APRIL OVERFLOW 

i8< 



THE VOYAGE OF THE "OREGON" 

The battleship, Oregon, left San Francisco March 19, 1898, and arrived at 

Key West, Florida, May 26, sixty-eight days later, having covered 

13,587 miles, or about 200 miles per day. 

Unto Clark on board the Oregon in San Francisco Bay 
Came the order, "Join the squadron at Key West without 

delay," 
x'^nd the message, brief, laconic, filled with joy each sailor's 

heart. 
For they knew that war impended and they wished no idle 

part. 

So with eagerness they started from the far Pacific shore 
On their continent-circling voyage, thirteen thousand miles 

and more; 
Little recked they of the distance, all they cared about was 

speed, 
And their only fear the engines, lest they fail them at their 

need. 

But they threw the coal in boldly and the ship raced down the 

coast. 
Tearing through the foaming waters like a grey avenging 

ghost; 
Never slacking, never staying, till the Andes came in view, 
When she headed for Callao on the shores of old Peru. 

Then, her bunkers heaped with fuel, out she went to sea again. 
And the smoke streamed from her funnels in a cloud across the 

main, 
And the miles fell fast behind her as she sped upon her course 
To the throbbing of her engines, driving on with tireless force. 

Oft the night the day succeeded, and again the day the night. 
As she ploughed the southern waters in her unremitting flight, 
Till she reached the icy regions where the storm-winds ever 

wait. 
And with lessened speed she entered into bleak Magellan 

Strait. 




I87 



5K^*'^iW 




THE VOYAGE OF THE "OREGON" 

On between the rocky islands, past the mountains crowned 

with snow, 
Through the narrow, winding channels, steaming cautiously 

and slow; 
Yet advancing, pressing forward to the brightening eastern 

shore, 
Soon she rode the broad Atlantic and went racing on once 

more. 

And the engines answered nobly as the sailors heaved the coal. 
Cutting rapidly the distance yet between them and their goal. 
And ere long they came to Rio and learned war had been 

declared 
And that Spain was on the ocean with her ships for fight 

prepared. 

Then forthwith, the bunkers laden, and with every heart 

aglow, 
Out they pushed into the open with a keen eye for the foe; 
And they steered the brave ship onward up the vast reach of 

Brazil, 
All hands ready for the Spaniard should he try to work them 

ill. 

Day by day she speeded northward, unmolested crossed the 

line. 
Skirted round the outer Indies, steaming on through storm and 

shine, 
Till the green hills of Barbados rose above the swelling foam. 
Where she coaled once more and started on the last long 

stretch for home. 

And the faithful engines drove her swiftly toward the Spanish 

isles. 
But no foe came forth to meet her as she ran the lessening 

miles; 



THE VOYAGE OF THE "OREGON" 

And without mishap or hindrance she pursued her homeward 

way, 
And at last attained the waters where the waiting squadron lay. 

Then, what shouting! what rejoicing! as she raced across the 

tide. 
With her flags and pennants streaming and the white spray 

spurting wide! 
How they manned the sides and cheered her as she swept along 

the line, 
While the whistles shrieked a welcome and the bands played 

"Auld Lang Syne!" 

And when Spain a little later with her ships our cruisers dared, 
In the forefront was the Oregon and in the victory shared; 
And Spaniards on that fatal day that saw their fleet undone. 
Learned that the gallant battleship could fight as well as run. 




GRATEFUL SHADE 



190 




THE CHESTNUT GROVE 



THE MARINES AT GUANTANAMO 

A detachment of marines, landed at Guantanamo, Cuba, June lo, li 
held their position unaided for ten days. 

On Cuban soil they placed them, 

A dauntless little band, 
Where cruel Death could waste them. 

And bade them hold the land; 
Through days and nights to swelter, 

Or fight the skulking foe, 
That our ships might have shelter 

In blue Guantanamo. 

Not theirs to know the pleasure 

That gallant warriors feel, 
When armed strength they measure, 

To meet foes worth their steel, 
But just to battle only 

With lurking shapes of dread, 
Through night-long watches lonely 

Whence zest of strife had fled. 



191 



THE MARINES AT GUANTANAMO 

By day the heat was deadly, 

And with the setting sun, 
The woods around flashed redly 

With many a Spanish gun; 
And men in trenches lying 

Raged at their helplessness, 
Till nerves and brain were crying ' 

For respite from the stress. 

But still they kept undaunted 

Their camp beside the bay, 
And still their bright flag flaunted 

Above them where they lay. 
Till help came o'er the water, 

Then up they rose in might, 
And drove with vengeful slaughter 

The cravens far in flight. 

And then from hill and shoreland 
f There rose a joyful din, 

And past the broad bay's foreland 

The ships came steaming in; 
Henceforth to lie defended 

Whatever storms might blow. 
For Spanish rule is ended 

In blue Guantanamo. 



THE END OF THE SPANISH FLEET 

The Spanish fleet made its dash from Santiago Bay, Cuba, July i, i8 
It was completely destroyed by the vessels temporarily under the 
command of Commodore Schley. 

Safe in Santiago Bay 

x'\ll the Spanish squadron lay. 
And the fleet of Sampson guarded at its mouth; 

Said the admiral, "Let no ship 

From the harbor seaward slip," 
Then he steamed away on duty to the south. 



192 



THE END OF THE SPANISH FLEET 

Fiercely blazed the tropic sun, 

Though the day had but begun, 
And to work the men moved sluggishly about. 

When the watch sent up a cry: 

"Pass the word along to Schley — 
Tell the Commodore the foe is coming out!" 

Changed the scene in briefest space, 

Every man leaped to his place, 
While the Brooklyn flew the signal "clear for fight;" 

And the gun crews shouted hoarse 

As the engines gathered force, 
And the fleet closed up to stay the Spaniards' flight. 

Out they came in smoking line, 

Turning west with one design. 
To run down the Cuban coast and out to sea; 

Four stout cruisers, black and grim. 

Two destroyers, swift and slim — 
Shall they then escape our vessels and go free? 

Nay! Iowa, hurl your shell, 

Indiana, smite them well, 
Pour your broadsides, gallant Texas, till they quail; 

Little Gloucester, show your sting. 

Take them, Oregon, a-wing. 
Let no ship bear back to Spain the battle's tale. 

Brooklyn, yonder is your prey! 

See! Vizcaya steals away. 
And the Chrtstobal Colon, their boast and pride; 

Now 'tis yours to serve our need, 

Force your fires, increase your speed. 
Overhaul them in their flight whate'er betide. 

And the Brooklyn, swift of keel, 
Drove her prow of shining steel 
Through the zone of shell-raked waters undismayed; 



193 



THE END OF THE SPANISH FLEET 

And the Oregon joined in 
With her long guns' fearful din, 
And upon the flying cruisers havoc made. 

In an hour all were gone, 

Save alone the fast Colon, 
That far-off adown the coast still fought and fled; 

But brave Schley clung to the chase. 

And bold Clark steamed up apace. 
While across the waters sang the missiles dread. 

Then the foe foresaw his fate, 

And twixt dastard fear and hate. 
Turned and ran his conquered ship on the shore; 

And the battle-flag of Spain 

O'er the peaceful Western main 
Will unfurl its "blood and gold" nevermore! 




194 




MOUNT CLARE, CARROLL PARK, THE OLDEST HOUSE IN BALTIMORE 

BEFORE ELECTION 

On the subjugation of the Filipinos, Presidential contest of 1899 

God of the freemen! Thou whose aid 

Our fathers sought in days agone, 
When they the State's foundation laid 

In Liberty's resplendent dawn, 
Be with Thy people yet, we pray, 

In this, our hour of direst need, 
When we must boldly choose the way 

'Twixt ancient faith and untried creed. 

Throughout our brief, eventful life 

Thou knowest how our hands have wrought; 
Upholding still, through peace or strife 

The truths our country's founders taught; 
Still building bravely as we grew 

Our broad Republic as they planned. 
With justice ever in our view. 

And trusting to Thy guiding hand. 



195 



BEFORE ELECTION 

But now degenerate sons would raise 

Unworthy altars in Thy name, 
And bid us leave our peaceful ways 

For paths of conquest — and of shame; 
Would have us set our flag and sway 

O'er alien folk across the sea, 
To hold them subject or to slay 

Upon the plea of "Destiny!" 



Stay Thou the wrong! Shall we whose sires 

Gave up their all in Freedom's cause, 
Deny a race when it aspires 

To live as free 'neath its own laws? 
Can we forget each glowing deed 

That fires the patriotic heart 
And turn for most ignoble greed 

To play the hated tyrant's part? 



Nay, scourge these foolish ones who kneel 

In worship at War's bloody shrine. 
And make their froward hearts to feel 

Their ruthless ways are not as Thine; 
Turn back the feet that would betray 

The nation to imperial rule, 
Cast out the doctrines. Lord, for aye, 

Caught from the Old World's cruel school. 



Renew our love of truth and right; 

Teach us to govern as the just. 
And not by savage laws of might 

Dug from old empires' buried dust; 
Keep us from pride of armed power. 

From greed of land and every ill. 
And in this most portentous hour 

Guide Thou aright the voter's will. 

196 




GIANT ROCK NEAR HOLLOFIELD, PATAPSCO VALLEY 



197 




A GLIMPSE OF BEAR CREEK 



198 



A PASSING 

New Year's Eve, December 31, 1900 

Poor, wornout century, now at your end. 

Say where be those who were with you at starting; 

Have you no life-long familiar or friend 

O'er you to watch, or to mourn your departing? 

Where are the poets who lauded your birth, 

Who sang your bright promise with spirits elated? 

Rhymster and rhyme what today are they worth? 
Both to the dust-heap have been relegated. 

Where are the gallants who thronged the old hall 

And danced your young hours in the minuet's mazes? 

Where is the slim-waisted belle of the ball? 
Laid away long ago, toes to the daisies. 

Where is the roystering hard-drinking crew, 

Who toasted your advent while yet they were able 

By emptying tall bottles in honor of you? 
Death has put all of them under the table. 

Where is the warm-hearted, neighborly dame 
Who on your first day set the candles a-burning, 

And spread out her good things to cheer all who came? 
Gone to that bourne from whence there's no returning 

So they have passed from your days one by one — 
But, hark! what wild clamor upon the air crashes? 

The New Year is born! the next cycle begun! 

Farewell, nineteenth century; peace to your ashes! 



ALL FOOLS DAY 

Why set apart a day for fools their folly to display, 

As if all men were wise at other time? 
Shucks! we've been doing foolish things on every kind of day 

And expect to till we reach another clime. 



199 




THE CITY BY NIGHT, FROM FEDERAL HILL PARK 

AFTER THE FIRE 

A prophecy of Greater Baltimore, written on the first anniversary of the 
great fire of February, 7-8, 1904 

The fire had passed; above the scene 

The genius of the city bent 
In bitter woe, like some sad queen 

Dethroned and doomed to banishment; 
And as she mourned she felt the spell 

Of a superior presence near, 
While gracious words of comfort fell 

Like music on her raptured ear. 

"My daughter, cease your futile sighs, 
This fire shall prove your lasting gain; 

These ruined piles anew shall rise 

In beauty dear as sunny skies 
That follow gloomy days of rain. 



200 



AFTER THE FIRE 

Here, with prophetic sense, I see 
A fairer, vaster realm than this; 

A people from old bonds set free 

Shall make a city that will be 
The Southland's real metropolis. 

These streets again with trade shall fill 

In volume never known of yore; 
Here loom and press and forge and mill 
Shall heap the products of their skill, 
And wealth her garnered treasure pour. 




WASHINGTON MONUMENT 
CHARLES STREET APPROACH, BEFORE IMPROVEMENTS 



20 1 



AFTER THE FIRE 

To these broad wharves shall Commerce come 

As come the countless birds in Spring; 
To straining sail and engine's hum 
All lands and climes to swell the sum 
Shall each abundant tribute bring. ■ 

Here, too, in widening stream shall flow 
Rich freights for other havens meant; 
From mine, from field, the flood shall grow 
Till from this port shall outward go 
The spoil of half a continent. 

Here Art shall rear memorials fair, 

Still to her old ideals true, 
And pilgrim throngs shall here repair. 
While blooming park and statued square 

The love of beauty shall renew. 

Here Learning, too, shall have her seat 
And call her youth from far and near 

To gather wisdom at her feet 

And draw an inspiration sweet 

From the brave record of this year." 

The voice at last in music died. 

And rising up w'th radiant mien, 
The goddess scood in joy and pride 

Once more in very truth a queen; 
And passed unto a place apart 

To wait in happy certainty 
The while the people of her heart 

Wrought out the glorious prophecy. 



202 



THE CALL OF MARYLAND 

■Old Home" Week, Baltimore, October 13 to 19, 1907 

O wandering sons! O children dear! 

Where'er today you roam, 
For you we spread the festal cheer 

And deck your natal home; 
For you a queenly mother waits 

In stately joy and pride 
Within her fairest city gates, 

Where doors are opened wide. 

Come home — forget awhile your care. 

Put by your wasting toil; 
Come breathe your old State's genial air 

And tread her kindly soil; 
Retrace the scenes of life's young day 

Clasp friendly hands once more. 
And Love will smooth the years away 

And vanished youth restore. 

Come home — through far you build anew 

Or other ties you form, 
Your old State's skies are still as blue. 

Our hearts are just as warm; 
Still on her swelling hills the sun 

Sends down his brightest ray. 
And still her sparkling rivers run 

Rejoicing to the Bay. 

Come home — our bannered streets are bright,. 

Our standards proudly fly. 
And "Welcome" gleams from flag and light 

And beams in every eye; 
And kindred and old comrades will 

With pleasant greetings come. 
While pleasure all the hours shall fill — 

Come home, dear hearts, come home. 



203 









THE OBSERVATORY, PATFERSON PARK 



THE OLD FORT 

Fort McHenry, whose gallant defense inspired the "Star-Spangled Banner." 

After it was abandoned by the Government it was made into a public 

park, but during war times was converted to hospital uses. 

No more along the parapet her guards pace to and fro, 

No more her sunset gun resounds above Patapsco; 

Her shuttered barracks stand forlorn, no hurrying troopers 

pass; 
The old parade ground's lines are hid beneath effacing 

grass. 

She who ne'er yielded to the foe must yield to circumstance; 
Vain now the watch she long has kept o'er Chesapeake's 

expanse; 
The need that raised her storied walls does not exist today. 
Yet from our life her name and fame can never pass away. 

For 'twas upon her hallowed soil our flag waved through the 
night, 

204 



THE OLD FORT 

What time the foe attacked our land in vengeful hate and 
spite; 

And from her heights inspiring gleams across the deep were 
borne 

To him who watched with straining gaze that gray Sep- 
tember morn. 

Then let the old fort stand intact, the chiefest of our 

shrines, 
Her deathless glory ever linked with Key's immortal lines; 
Still let her silent cannons keep their station by the shore, 
And let her starry banner wave above them evermore. 

And pilgrim feet shall hither come, to pass with reverent 

tread 
Along the ramparts Valor held in those dark days of dread; 
And generations yet unborn shall to her slopes repair 
And gazing on her streaming flag rejoice to see it there. 




LOOKING DOWN THE RIVER FROM FORT MCHENRY 



205 



THE ICEBERG AND THE SHIP 

The Titanic, sunk by collision with an iceberg, off Newfoundland 
April 14, 1912 

From the heart of the polar regions, 

In a glacier-guarded bay, 
With a crash of riven mountains. 

An iceberg broke away. 
"I am called," it hoarsely thundered, 

"And I follow afar and free; 
I am called to my work in the fog and mirk 

Where the great ships dare the sea." 

And out by the rocky headland 

That clutched it with futile hands. 
Away through the icy water, 

Unchecked by its brittle bands; 
And out past the bold sea fishers. 

Who shrank from its frosty breath. 
Through many a day it crushed its way 

A huge white shape of death. 

From her port on the further ocean 

Steamed forth the brave new ship, 
A marvel of human effort. 

She sped on her maiden trip; 
Two thousand souls for her burden. 

And never was freight more dear, 
And she swept the tide in strength and pride 

A thing that knew not fear. 

When out of the midnight darkness. 

Rose a wall of crystal rock. 
Arid fair on the iceberg's ledges 

She struck with splintering shock; 
And, her iron sides rent asunder, 

Down the sea's dark depths she spun. 
And the far-called doom passed o'er her tomb, 

Its awful work was done. 



206 




DEEPDENE ROAD, ROLAND PARK 



207 




KEY MONUMENT, EUTAW PLACE 



208 



EVER FAIR BALTIMORE 

Written for the contest inaugurated by Mayor Preston for a municipal song. 
Copies in sheet music form may be had from the author. 

Proudly she sits, like a queen in her splendor, 

Throned on her hills at the head of the Bay ; 
Graced with the best Art and Nature can lend her, 

Glowing by night and inspiring by day. 
Bright are the names on the page of her glory. 

Foremost her place in the annals of yore. 
Splendid the deeds that illumine her story, 

Town of our love, ever fair Baltimore. 

CHORUS 

Sing to her, sing to her, swell the glad chorus. 

Tell out her praises the broad country o'er; 

Great things behind us and greater before us, 

Forward in faith, Baltimore, Baltimore! 

I. 

Up through the years she has grown into beauty. 

Tested by war and by flood and by fire, 
Rising unconquered and meeting her duty. 

Pressing anew to her cherished desire. 
Grander and vaster her projects unfolding. 

City ne'er held richer promise in store; 
Join we our voices her name in upholding, 

Town of our love, ever fair Baltimore. 

Wide are her gates to the toiler and planner. 

Ready she stands to encourage and aid ; 
Guarding the rights of each one 'neath her banner, 

Just in her laws and consistent in trade. 
Fronting the future with purpose unswerving, 

True to the highest in science and lore; 
Surely no other is worthy our serving. 

Town of our love, ever fair Baltimore. 



209 




A WINTRY OUTLOOK 



THE BELLS OF CHRISTMAS 

Written the first Christmas of the war, before we had realized the 
impossibiHty of peace with Germany's war lords 

Ring out the bells of Christmas — 

Aye, ring them o'er and o'er, 
Until their joyous clamor 

Shall drown the cannon's roar; 
Till men in shell-torn trenches 

Their olden spell shall feel 
And cease the work of slaughter 

To listen to their peal. 

Ring out the bells of Christmas, 

Fill every brazen throat, ^ 

And let the sounding music 
Across the sad earth float; 

Above the tramp of armies. 
Above the battle's din, 



2IO 



THE BELLS OF CHRISTMAS 

Send their glad notes a-wlnging 
Men's hearts from hate to win. 

Ring out the bells of Christmas, 

Insistent, strong and clear. 
Nor let their summons falter 

Till all at strife shall hear; 
Ring till each gun is silenced 

And every flag is furled 
Throughout this hell of warfare 

That once was God's bright world. 




WHEN SNOWDRIFTS HIDE FAMILIAR PATHS 



211 



THE "LUSITANIA" 

Torpedoed off the coast of Ireland May 7, 191S, by a German submarine. 

Seas were smooth and skies were clear, 
Not a sign of danger near, 
Port and safety just ahead. 
When the German death-bolt sped. 

With a crash that opened wide 
Half her iron seams to the tide, 
Smashing hull and boiler room, 
Came the Lusitania s doom. 
Ah, the scenes of grief and woe 
As she sank beneath the blow! 
Ah, the noble efforts made 
And the fortitude displayed! 
But the dastard struck to true, 
And of passengers and crew 
Full twelve hundred found a grave 
Underneath Atlantic's wave. 

Memory will ever keep 
This black horror of the deep; 
Ghostly forms will evermore 
Haunt the lonely Irish shore; 
And the surf along its sands 
Ever seem like clutching hands: 
Little fingers, baby frail. 
Reaching up without avail; 
Tender mother arms that strain 
For some saving help in vain; 
While the breezes still will be 
Filled with cries of agony. 

Germany, your sons shall bleed 

For this worse than savage deed; 

For each one that slaughtered lies 

Shall a thousand warriors rise, 

Who will never stay a hand 

Till they sweep you from the land; 

Drive you forth with steel and flame 

Down to hell whence sprang this shame. 

212 



TO A CERTAIN ARROGANT MONARCH 

Written in February, 1917, just before this country broke with Germany. 

Our fathers sailed the seas of yore. 

Free as the winds that round them blew; 
Unfearing passed from shore to shore. 

As duty led or commerce drew. 
But now, through evil war's mischance. 

You, ruthless monarch, desperate grown. 
Declare, with crowning arrogance. 

Our ships must keep a certain zone. 

Think you that we will tamely bide 

Within some harbor's guarded gate. 
Or turn from destined port aside 

Because your U-boats lie in wait? 
Nay, WilHam of the Bloody Hand, 

Our fighting spirit lingers still, 
We will not stay at your command, 

Nor suit our purpose to your will. 

Before your boasted fleet had birth. 

Or sullied standard had been flown, 
Our sails bore freedom round the earth. 

Our flag in every port was known. 
The seas from which you bar us out 

Have seen ere now our battle smoke, 
When Paul Jones, in the Richard stout, 

The power of mighty England broke. 

When pirate hordes from Algiers old 

Wrought terror on each ocean lane. 
Know that 'twas our Decatur bold 

Who sought and drove them from the main. 
From Perry down to Dewey, all 

Our fighting sailor sons and free 
Have crushed the tyrants, great or small. 

That strove against us on the sea. 

213 



TO A CERTAIN ARROGANT MONARCH 

So William, through we seek not war, 

Our sacred rights we will defend; 
In spite of perils spread before, 

Our ships will sail, whate'er the end. 
For we are one in heart today 

With Farragut, who grimly said, 
When warned of danger in the way, 

"Damn the torpedoes — go ahead!" 

And if our long-curbed wrath outbreak, 

Look to your crews of outlaw breed; 
For vengeance we will surely take 

For every brutal, heartless deed. 
Then will our swift destroyers set 

Their wits against your cunning Huns, 
And fortressed Helgoland may yet 

Fall to the thunder of our guns! 




ALONG THE NORTHERN CENTRAL RAILWAY 



214 




THE CITY IN WAR PAINT 
RECRUITING TENTS ON THE NEW CIVIC CENTRE 



ENLIGHTENED 

Written for the first Liberty Loan campaign, 19 17 

I thought the war an ill remote, 

Because its horrors touched me not; 

My blinded vision failed to note 
Its menace to my tranquil lot. 

I did not in the strife perceive 
A purposed blow at all mankind; 

Such evil I could not believe — 
I little knew the Hunnish mind. 



215 



ENLIGHTENED 

But time that still drives error out, 
Brought to my eyes enlightenment, 

And showed beyond dispute or doubt. 
The German despot's real intent. 

I know the thousand wrongs disclosed. 
The woes whereof I daily learn. 

Save for the brave that interposed, 
Had been my portion in my turn. 

In yielded tribute and in pains 

I had my part in the design; 
The Belgian patriot's heavy chains 

Were really forged for me and mine. 

But for yon hero lying stark 

On France's devastated soil, 
Myself might be a bullet's mark. 

Or forced for tyrant foes to toil. 

And through unscathed, in peaceful land. 
Far from the war's distracted zone. 

For Freedom I must take my stand; 
The battle is my very own. 

Lest our torn world sink back in night. 
And life become devoid of worth. 

Be mine the part to lend my might 

To scourge this monster from the earth. 



OUR BIT 

We who can't be in the fray 
May now assuage our sorrow; 

The "dough" that buys a bond today 
Will bang a Hun tomorrow. 

2l6 




217 





w 
< 

Oh 
O 

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I 

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W 

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2l8 



O MOTHERS OF THE LAND! 

Mothers Day, 191 8 

O mothers of the land! we lay 

Our tributes at your feet; 
We wear a flower for you today, 

Your emblem pure and sweet; 
Yours for your constancy and truth. 

Your love beyond all price; 
Yours for your guardianship of youth, 

And yours for sacrifice. 

O mothers of the land! you tread 

A hard and thorny path, 
For Europe's soil with blood is red 

Through balked ambition's wrath; 
And your brave sons must strike their blow 

Lest greater ills betide. 
Ah, with what grief you bid them go — 

Yet with what swelling pride! 

O mothers of the land! no tongue 

Can fitly hymn your praise; 
The sweetest carol to you sung 

But ill your worth portrays; 
To every life some strength you lend, 

Some gracious excellence. 
And we before your goodness bend 

In humble reverence. 

AFTER THE ARMISTICE 

Let's voice our grateful thanks today 
That Right, not Might, the world will sway; 
That save the Hun this war-torn earth 
Holds honor still a thing of worth. 



219 




THE LAKE. PATTERSON PARK 



THE KING COMES TO HIS OWN AGAIN 

Entry of King Albert of Belgium into Brussels, November 22, 1918, 

O daughter, haste! hang out once more 

Our flag long hidden from the day, 
And open wide the bolted door, 

The German beast has gone away. 
No more in quaking dread we'll bide, 

Nor steal abroad with fear and pain — 
Today, in all a conqueror's pride, 

The king comes to his own again! 



Before the War Lord's evil brood 
He yielded up his stainless throne, 

And soldier fare and shelter rude 

These many days his lot has known; 

But now, his weary exile done. 
Attended by his faithful train, 



220 



THE KING COMES TO HIS OWN AGAIN 

With banners flashing in the sun, 
The king comes to his own again! 

He rides across the market place; 

The crowds press close; I hear the cheers; 
I strive to look upon his face, 

But cannot see for blinding tears. 
To think we have escaped the rod 

That on us four long years has lain 
My heart is like to burst, dear God! 

The king comes to his own again! 




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4 

EDGE OF THE WINTER WOODS 



221 



THE PRESIDENT'S MI.SSION 

President Wilson sailed for France and the Peace Congress December 4, 191 8 

A knightly figure, forth he fared 
Across the leagues of wintry seas; 

His hope, to free a world ensnared 
In war and all war's miseries. 

To enter in the lists for Peace 
Against her firm entrenched foes; 

To bid the lust for empire cease, 
And heal a strife-torn people's woes. 

O champion of the brightest dream 
That ever thrilled our mortal dust, 

We catch the splendour of its gleam 
And bid you Godspeed, with our trust! 

We cast aside the gloomy fears 

That long have whelmed us in despair, 

We look beyond the evil years 

And see the good they are to bear. 

We do believe that war will end 
And men on wiser lines reform; 
We see the bow of promise bend 
Above the waning of the storm. 

We know that time will conquer hate, 
And kindlier law the nations sway. 
And so we face the dawn and wait 
The breaking of the better day. 

GO SLOW 

Don't think that Peace at once will bring 

Release from wartime care; 
Still save the flour in everything 

And cut the beefsteak spare. 

222 



THE CITY OF FAILURE 

A FANTASY 

Methought I journeyed in an unknown land, 
A place unlike aught I e'er saw or fancied. 

Where of myself I had no more command, 

But moved by some strange power, like one entranced. 

Some subtle force, from whence I gathered strength 
To cross o'er leagues of dearth and desolation 

Until I reached a ruined wall at length, 

'Neath which I paused in sudden trepidation. 

A massive gate across my pathway hung. 

Between two towers that marked some city's border. 
But from their heights no flaunting banner swung, 

Nor saw I sign of sentinel or warder. 

I ventured on, and slowly drawing near, 

I thought they either sleep or are dissembling, 

And as my courage gained upon my fear, 
I gave a feeble hail and waited, trembling. 

My voice awoke the echoes of the place, 

A jeering troop that mocked me with theie riot — 

They raged about me for a moment's space. 
Then sank again to their primeval quiet. 

Naught else replied; upon the towers vast 
No watch appeared, nor any living mortal. 

And so I thrust the gate aside and passed. 

With quaking heart, unchallenged through the portal. 

Within, a mighty city met my gaze. 

With streets and lanes in seeming chaos blending, 
But plunging into the perplexing maze, 

I pushed ahead to learn my journey's ending. 

223 



THE CITY OF FAILURE 

The street I entered seemed devoid of life. 

Throughout its gloomy length no one was stirring; 

No moving to and fro in busy strife, . 

No healthy sounds of toil, no wheels a-whirring. 

The roadway had become a tangled mass 

Of weeds and vines that for its bed contested, 

x'\nd on the pave the interloping grass 

Thrust forth from every crevice unmolested. 

Neglect had made a ruin everywhere, 

Each silent shop and crumbling habitation 

Showed that the place was dead to human care, 
And all was left to Time's despoliation. 

So lonely it appeared, a sense of awe, 

A feeling as of Death's dread presence thrilled me. 
Till, passing on my way, ere long I saw 

Some signs of life, whereat new courage filled me. 




THE FOAM LINE 



224 



THE CITY OF FAILURE 

Some creatures of my kind that I descried, 

Not far ahead, the faint-marked pathway threading, 

And hoping for some speech, with quickened stride, 
I drew beside them, wondering, yet dreading, 

My presence seemed to waken no surprise. 
No token gave they whither they were faring. 

But with despondent steps and weary eyes 
They moved along, unheeding and uncaring. 

Awhile I kept their apathetic pace. 

Then seeking one who less indifferent bore him, 
I asked where dwelt the ruler of the place — 

He raised his hand and pointed on before him. 

I looked, and in the distance I beheld 
A shining palace rising white and stately, 

And straight, by that strange power still impelled. 
My steps I thither turned precipitately. 




LAUNCHING THE FISHING BOAT 



225 



THE CITY OF FAILURE 

My gait soon brought me to the outer grounds, 
Where many a fallen statue lined the highway, 

And ruined fountains overflowed their bounds. 

And rank flowers bloomed in each untrodden byway. 

Aught nobler than the palace I ne'er saw, 

Though with decay its beauty had diminished, 

And closer view discovered many a flaw 

Where careless hands had left their work unfinished. 

The massive steps that to the entrance led 

Had, like the walls, in placed cracked and crumbled, 

And from the sculptured portico o'erhead 

Great blocks of stone into the court had tumbled. 

Brief space I stood with purposes at war, 

Still swayed between advancing and retreating. 

And oft I scanned the throng about the door, 
But no one stirred or gave me word of greeting. 

All were as silent as the crumbling stone. 
Nor could I see that any there kept sentry, 

And when my foolish fancies were o'erthrown, 
I pushed into their midst and gained the entry. 

I found myself within a spacious hall, 

Filled with the fruits of human undertaking; 

Books, models, pictures, carvings, statues, all 
The varied objects of man's patient making. 

I pondered long upon their presence there. 

Not that they lacked in beauty or in meetness, 

But everything I saw, though seeming fair. 
Had some defect or look of incompleteness. 



226 




227 




228 



THE CITY OF FAILURE 

There was no perfect work about the place, 
No masterpiece the faults of all redeeming; 

Nor saw I anywhere a human face 

That with the light of victory was beaming. 

No countenance that wore a happy look, 

As of success achieved through hard conditions. 

But on them all I read, as in a book. 

Of blasted hopes and unfulfilled ambitions. 

It was a house of sadness and of gloom, 

Whose stagnant life nor time nor season altered; 

And as I moved from crowded room to room, 
My heart grew heavy and my footsteps faltered. 

Yet must I learn who ruled this drear domain, 
And so I passed — my fears at length permitting — 

To where enthroned amid his solemn train 
The city's master sat in state befitting. 

The place was all in shadow — cobwebs gray 
Across each window hung a dusty curtain. 

Through which the sun sent in a sickly ray 

That made all things within vague and uncertain. 

I entered straight and sought the ruler's throne 
Before my fears could from my purpose win me, 

But as I strove to make my wishes known, 
I met his gaze and courage died within me. 

Transfixed I stood beneath his eyes' dark spell, 

While brief he spoke in tones that made me cower: 

"My name is Failure; lest you here would dwell. 
Fly ere you feel my spirit's blighting power!" 



229 




BATTLE MONUMENT, CALVERT STREET 
COMMEMORATING THE DEFENSE OF BALTIMORE IN l8l2 

THE DERVISH'S GOOD COUNSEL 

AN EASTERN TALE 

The while a khan of Tartary was riding out one day, 
Attended by his followers, he met upon the way 
A wand'ring dervish who proclaimed, "Whoever gives to me 
A hundred golden pieces, a good counsel his shall be!" 

The khan to his pursebearer turned and ordered there be paid 
A hundred pieces to the man, and straight he was obeyed; 
The dervish took the gold and craved the khan would him 

attend; 
This done, he said, "In all thou dost, consider well the end!" 



230 



THE DERVISH'S GOOD COUNSEL 

Loud laughed the followers of the khan, and did the dervish 

Said one, "Methinks such stale advice is reckoned rather 

dear;" 
But said the khan, "I, gentlemen, do not with you agree, 
I think the counsel worth its price, my life-rule it shall be!" 

So, when he from his ride returned, he called his workmen 

out 
And had them grave it on the walls the palace all about, 
And over every window and above each spacious door, 
All gold and silver vessels, too, the warning motto bore. 

Ere long a lesser governor conceived a wicked plan 
To kill his lawful sovereign and be himself made khan; 




OLD WATER WHEEL ON THE WINANS ESTATE 



231 



THE DERVISH'S GOOD COUNSEL 

By means of heavy bribes he won the head physician's aid,^ 
Who swore when next he bled the khan to use a poisoned 
blade. 

Soon came an opportunity; the khan was taken ill, 
And straight for the physician called to use his valued skill; 
He went, and as he had agreed, a poisoned lancet took, 
But ere 'twas used he saw that which his resolution shook. 

Upon the basin for the blood which servants did extend. 
He read the words, "In all thou dost, consider well the end!'' 
His courage failed him, and he laid the poisoned blade aside 
And took another, but his face could not his secret hide. 

For cried the khan, "What meaneth this? Why didst thou 

pause but now? 
Thy face is pale! thy fingers shake! the sweat stands on thy 

brow! 
Some cursed deed was in thy heart — I bid thee it declare! 
Confess it, wretch, and I may thy forfeited life yet spare!" 

With terror filled, upon his knees the false physician fell 
And, trembling for his life, began the wicked plot to tell; 
"Go," said the khan, "I spare thy life," when all he had been 

told, 
"And henceforth be thou not so quick to sell thy soul for 

gold." 

But the ambitious governor he ordered straight to death. 
Nor felt secure till he had ceased to draw his mortal breath; 
Then to his faithful followers he smiling turned and said, 
"The counsel of the dervish think you I too dearly paid?" 



IX- 



ENTOMBED 

AN ADVENTURE IN A CAVE 

This is the tale as it came to me 

From the bearded lips of my gray-haired guide, 
As we lay in the shade of a spreading tree 

And smoked our pipes on the mountain side: 

"I never journey among these hills 
But my heart anew with horror thrills, 
And memory brings back fresh and clear 
A dread adventure I met with here. 
In tramping round with my gun one day, 
The chase of a fox led me this way, 
And I followed him close and found his lair, 
A hole 'neath a rock in the valley there. 
I stooped to take a look at the place 
When a current of air blew o'er my face, 
A breath of a warm, dry atmosphere, 
And I cried at once, "A cave is here!" 
With my hunting knife I scraped away 
From the narrow cleft the earth and clay 
Till I thought the opening amply wide 
To enable me to crawl inside; 
But first, with a hunter's clear foresight, 
I gathered some resinous boughs for light. 
Then with much trouble and frequent pause 
I worked my way in the cavern's jaws. 
Within I quickly kindled a blaze 
And gazed around by the feeble rays 
To see what manner of place I'd found 
Thus hidden away beneath the ground. 
I found myself in a gallery small. 
Scarce six feet wide from wall to wall, 
But stretching out in the farther gloom 
To a space my torch could not illume. 
The floor was a stiff, tenacious clay. 
With an upward slope as the valley lay. 



'-33 



ENTOMBED ' 

And down its slippery, winding length 

There ran a stream of goodly strength. 

I took my torch in a firmer grip 

And began my subterranean trip, 

Taking the streamlet for my guide 

And pressing on with eager stride. 

The cavern opened as I advanced, 

And my torch in many a byway glanced, 

And strangest figures and shapes in stone 

In the flickering light a moment shone; 

Pillars, white as the new-born snow. 

Rose up from the floor, row after row. 

And curtains wrought with gorgeous woof 

Hung motionless from the studded roof. 

I wandered onward, charmed, amazed 

By the many wonders at which I gazed. 

Till I came to a lake that stopped my course, 

And which I found was the streamlet's source. 




A NATURAL MIRROR 



234 



ENTOMBED 

I swung my flaming pine-knot high 
And stared around with straining eye, 
But could not fathom the lake's extent, 
Nor see the roof that above it bent. 
I tossed a stone high overhead. 
And it sunk far out in the lake's dark bed, 
And the ripple that started where it fell 
Struck some distant cliff like a silvery bell. 
Then a foolish wish came in my mind — 
I wonder yet I could be so blind — 
But to hear my gun there I desired, 
And I pointed it up at the roof and fired. 
Heavens! the din that followed that shot; 
While I breathe it never will be forgot; 
The terrible sound ran to and fro 
x'\nd smote on my ears as with a blow. 
To the uttermost parts of the cave it fled. 
With fainter roar as it farther sped, 




THE CATTAIL SWAMP 



^3S 



ENTOMBED 

Then back again in a swelling tide, 

By a thousand echoes multiplied. 

I seized my gun in frantic haste 

And down the gallery's slope I raced, 

Recking nothing of blows or falls, 

Nor aught but escape from the cavern's walls. 

On I ran in my headlong course, 

Till I struck a wall with fearful force. 

And back on the wet earth tumbled prone, 

With no more life than the senseless stone. 

How long I lay there I cannot say. 

My torch still showed a feeble ray 

When life returned to my dizzy brain 

And my sluggish pulses moved again. 

I struggled up and fanned my light 

Till it made the cavern faintly bright, 

And my eyes at once an object found 

That held me there in wonder bound. 

'Twas one of the pine boughs I had left 

When first I crawled through the narrow cleft 

Of the cavern's mouth; 'twas the self-same place, 

But of the cleft there wasn't a trace. 

I searched the rocky wall all o'er, 

Tried every crevice from roof to floor. 

And at last I learned with a dreadful shock 

That my shot or something had altered the rock 

And shut me there in a living tomb, 

W^ith never a soul to know my doom. 

At first I felt a furious rage 

And splintered my gun-stock on my cage. 

Then threw the useless barrel aside 

And sat me down on the stones and cried. 

But when I had somewhat calmer grown, 

I stood my torch on a jutting stone. 

And gathered the fragments, every one. 

That had fallen from my splintered gun. 

And a cheerful fire with these I made 

Which soon dispelled the cavern's shade; 




RELAY STATION AND THE THOMAS VIADUCT, B. & O. R. R. 



237 




THE THOMAS VIADUCT ACROSS THE PATAPSCO AT RELAY 



238 



ENTOMBED 

Then taking my torch I sought the slope 

Where tb-" streamlet ran, with growing hope. 

In a brigiit-jascade the water fell 

And sank from sight in a sort of well, 

Slipping away far underground 

With a ceaseless, bubbling, gurgling sound. 

Long while in its troubled depths I gazed. 

And at length my thoughts into action blazed; 

I picked the stones from the cavern floor 

Till beside the well I had a score. 

Then into the narrow opening there 

I tumbled them with greatest care. 

And rejoiced to see they filled the space 

So that little water could leave the place; 

Then from the floor I tore away 

Huge handfuls of the stiff red clay. 

And into each crack I let it drop 

Till the water flowed from the well's rough top 

And over the floor began to wind. 

For thus I had thought escape to find, 

By turning the stream from its former course, 

And an outlet elsewhere make it force. 

An opening large enough for me 

To work my way to liberty. 

My torch by this was almost gone 

And the darkness swiftly coming on. 

So I climbed again o'er the rocks and mud 

To a safer place above the flood. 

Far up the slope I found a ledge 

And scrambled over its ragged edge. 

But dropped in the act my bit of light. 

And sat there whelmed in blackest night. 

Till then I had hardly felt a fear. 

But the frightful gloom and the silence drear 

And the thought that I there might end my life 

Struck through my heart like the thrust of a knife. 

Thus I sat for hours and scarcely stirred 

Till the gathering waters beneath I heard, 

239 



ENTOMBED 

By which I knew that the rising tide 

xA^t last was climbing the cavern's side. 

Upward it crawled by slow degrees, 

Over my ankles, over my knees, 

Up to my waist its cold line grew, 

While a newer terror my senses knew; 

But ere the water had reached my face, 

A thunderous sound rang through the place, 

And the outward surge of the rushing flood 

Tore me away from where I stood, 

Bore me along on its mighty wave 

Down the gallery's length and out of the cave; 

Threw me at last against the hill. 

Where I lay exhausted and bruised and still. 

While the unchained torrent past me poured 

And on down the valley raged and roared 

Till the cave was dry, then it died away 

To the quiet stream that you see today." 




ON THE ANNAPOLIS ROAD, ENGLISH CONSOL ESTATE 



240 




OILMAN HALL, JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY 

OUTWITTED 

A TALE OF THE BORDER 

In the far Southwest, near the border line, 
Where the law is lax as to mine and thine, 
To a startled town there appeared one day 
A pair of bandits, who carried away 
To the distant hills and a secret lair 
The pride of the sheriff, his daughter fair. 
In vain men mounted and sped in chase; 
The bandits vanished and left no trace; 
But two days later a stranger bore 
This message brief to the sheriff's door: 
''Weve got yer kid an this here's to say 
You can get her back if our price you pay; 
Bring Jive thousand cash to the Sunrise Rock 
On Friday morning at nine o'clock; 
Come alone y unarmed, an try no tricks 
Or you an yer youngster both we'll fix;" 
And the scrawl was signed by two of a band 



141 



OUTWITTED 

Whose deeds had a long time vexed the land. 

Five thousand dollars! A goodly sum; 

And the worried sheriff at first looked glum, 

But he loved his child and he hustled around- 

And by Thursday's close the amount had found; 

That same night, though, when none might mark, 

He rode away alone in the dark 

And came back late and went to his bed 

W^ith the look of one who was comforted. 

Next morning promptly at nine o'clock 

The sheriff stood at the Sunrise Rock, 

And eagerly scanning the plain, could trace 

Two horsemen coming at rapid pace. 

And grimly noted his child was pressed 

As a shield to the foremost rider's breast. 

They soon drew rein and the leading one 

Kept the sheriff "covered" with a gun 

While the second rascal, leaping down. 

Searched him quickly from toe to crown 

And announced, "no weapons;" whereat the first 

Yielded the child and inwardly cursed 

And wished he had doubled the ransom's size 

When he saw the joy in her father's eyes. 

Their gains soon counted, with jeer and scoff. 

The bandits mounted and started off. 

While the sheriff stood like a man a-dream 

Till into his eyes came a sudden gleam. 

And, stooping, out of the sand he tore 

Two guns he had buried the night before. 

Crack! crack! and the leader shrieked and fell 

And the other turned with a vengefull yell. 

When the sheriff's weapons once more flashed. 

And he tumbled down with his gun arm smashed. 

Then the sheriff bound them hard and fast, 

Took his rescued child and cash and passed 

With the groaning rogues down the townward trail 

Where he locked them safe in the county jail. 

Note — In border parlance, "gun" always means a revolver 

242 



JOHN DARRELL'S QUEST 

A TALE OF THE ARCTIC 

In old Nantucket's palmy years, 
When whaling flourished free, 

And ships brought to her crowded piers 
The spoil of every sea. 

Arose a race of sailors bold, 

For hardy service meet. 
Who roved from realms of arctic cold 

To realms of tropic heat. 

And foremost of those daring men 
Who fortune sought or fame. 

Was one whose deeds employ my pen, 
John Darrell, he, by name. 

Part I — The Visit 

John Darrell loitered in the sun 

Before his cottage door; 
He saw the foam-capped billows run 

And break upon the shore. 

He saw the whaling fleet that lay 

Beyond the harbor bar. 
He saw the ships their anchors weigh 

To brave the seas afar. 

He saw the swelling sails expand, 
The vessels seaward borne — 

John Darrell turned him to the land 
And spurned it in his scorn. 

And as he turned him from the tide 
That held his brotherhood, 

He stopped surprised, for at his side 
A sweet-faced maiden stood. 

243 



JOHN DARRELL'S QUEST 

"John Darrell," rang the maiden's voice, 

"I come to learn of you 
The fate of one, my heart's dear choice. 

Who sailed among your crew." 

"Nay, Mary," Darrell said, "'twere vain 

That dismal tale to tell; 
'Twill only serve to wake your pain, 

Besides you know it well." 

"True I have heard it oft before," 

The maiden answered low, 
"But ne'er by you heard I told o'er 

That story fraught with woe." 

"Then hear it, since it is your will," 

Spoke out the weary man; 
The maiden listened, rapt and still, ■ 

And thus the story ran. 




HIGH TRESTLE AT OAKLEIGH, MD. & PE.\NA. R. R. 
244 



Part II — The Story 

'"Tis scarce a year since forth we sailed 

To tempt the Arctic seas; 
The land upon our vision failed, 
The southern stars behind us paled. 

And northward blew the breeze 

We reached the land of ice and snow, 

The ship caught in the drift; 
The ice-stream bore us to and fro. 
Nor forward, backward, could we go 
Save as the ice would shift. 

The thick green wall on every side 

Enclosed us like a tomb; 
The mists rolled downward in a tide. 
We heard the icebergs crash and slide, 

And thought it told our doom. 




THE DISTANT CITY, FROM LAKE ASHBURTON 



245 



JOHN DARRELL'S QUEST 

The mists arose. Aslant the mast 

The sun at midnight shone; 
And still the ice-king held us fast, 
And still the days unchanging passed 

Until a month had flown. 

A hummock near broke up one day. 

It brought a ship in sight; 
Across the ice we made our way. 
But as we neared her where she lay. 

She seemed deserted quite. 

She sent no answer to our hail 
Though we in chorus roared; 
We clambered o'er the icy rail, 
We saw a sight that made us quail — 
Death only was on board. 

The dead were here, the dead were there, 

They had a frightful look; 
A dead man filled the captain's chair 
And gazed with fixed and empty stare 

Upon an open book. 

I took the volume green with mold, 

A dreadful tale I read; 
And oh, the might of arctic cold! 
Since last the pen the date had told. 

Full twenty years had fled. 

A sudden terror on us fell. 

And from the place we rushed; 
We could not break the awful spell. 
Like men allowed a glimpse of hell. 
We were in spirit crushed. 

246 




247 




248 



JOHN DARRELL'S QUEST 

One fateful day when half the crew 

Had gone in search of game, 
The ice split up, the ship broke through; 
We called the men with loud halloo, 

But back they never came. 

The northern wind was strong and keen, 

The ice was closing fast; 
I thought upon the dead we'd seen, 
I turned and steered the floes between, 

And homeward swift we passed. 

And now I meet with little grace 

As through the town I tread; 
No comrade seeks my lounging place, 
The children flee before my face. 

As from a thing of dread." 

Part III — The Vision 

The sailor ceased, and bowed his head, 

While silence held the pair. 
Then spoke the maid, "They are not dead, 

Those men forsaken there. 

Nay, look not so, I know my speech 

Seems idle to your ear. 
But I a tale to you would teach, 

'Twas this that brought me here. 

One night when sleep had conquered grief, 

And I unconscious lay, 
A wondrous vision, bright and brief. 

Appeared to me ere day. 

I saw that far-off frozen land, 

I saw a haggard crew, 
Who fought with death on either hand. 

And cold and hunger knew. 



I49 



JOHN DARRELL'S QUEST 

I saw their camp amid the snows 

Beneath a tow'ring crag, 
Upon whose icy crest arose 

A tattered signal-flag. 

And one was there — to me he cried; 

I plainly heard the sound; 
My gladdened heart leaped in my side 

With many a joyful bound. 

Three times have I that vision seen, 
And now my doubts are laid; 

I ask no more what it may mean, 
I come to you for aid. 

They cry for help — O may your heart 

Be moved by that appeal! 
To bring us woe it was your part; 

'Tis yours to bring us weal." 




THROUGH STONY WAYS 



JOHN DARRELL'S QUEST 

"Ah, Mary," Darrell sadly said, 
"Would I might heal your grief; 

Could I believe those men not dead, 
I'd haste to their relief, 

But long ere this they must have died; 

That vision fancy lent — " 
' Nay, speak not so," the maiden cried, 

It was from heaven sent. 

'Twas God's own way of sending aid 

To those despairing men, 
And His commands should be obeyed. 

Though past our mortal ken." 

"So be it, I will make the quest," 
John Darrell said at length, 

"And since I go at His behest. 
May He accord me strength." 




PLEASANT PASTURES 



JOHN DARRELL'S QUEST 
Part IV — The Search 

John Darrell straight a vessel sought, 

And found him one ere long, 
And day and night untiring wrought 

To make it swift and strong. 

When all was done he called for men, 

An eager throng replied; 
He choose him of the boldest, ten. 

And sailed out with the tide. 

For weeks the vessel northward bore. 

While colder grew the day; 
The ice began to vex her sore. 

And strove to bar the way. 

The icebergs hemmed her all about, 

They towered o'er the mast. 
But still John Darrell steered her out, 

And still he northward passed. 

At length a sheltered cove was found 

That suited well his plan. 
And there he anchored safe and sound. 

And straight the search began. 

John Darrell with a chosen few • 

Set out across the waste, 
The coming dangers well they knew, 

Yet they were bravely faced. 

And soon there came both rain and snow, 
And frost-rime thick as night, 

And artic winds began to blow 
In all their fearful might. 

The cold at last their courage bent, 
And filled them with dismay, 

252 



JOHN DARRELL'S QUEST 

And murmurings of discontent 
Grew louder day by day. 

Till worn by sickness, cold and pain 

They halted in the snow; 
John Darrell threatened, begged — in vain; 

They would no farther go. 

With burning heart and scornful eye, 

He turned from them away 
And climbed a lofty ice-mound nigh 
To take a last survey. 

Before him rose a rugged cape 

Where slow the sun declined, 
And plain against its crimson shape 

He saw a flag outlined. 

John Darrell gave a mighty bound. 

And o'er the ice he sped; 
"They're found," he cried, "the men are found, 

They're scarce a mile ahead! " 

His cheering words inspired the crew. 

They sprang up at his call, 
Their dying courage flamed anew. 

And "Forward!" cried they all. 

Part V — The Rescue 

In haste across the frozen plain 

Pushed on those sailors brave. 
They thought no more of cold or pain 

Since there was life to save. 

And ever as they neared the flag 

John Darrell's wonder grew. 
The camp and all about the crag 

The maid had pictured true. 

^53 



JOHN DARRELL'S QUEST 

Toward a hut they swiftly ran. 

And at their thrilling shout. 
The ghastly figure of a man 

Came reeling feebly out. 

John Darrell gazed on him a space, 

And joyful grew he then, 
Though sadly worn, he knew the face 

Of Mary's sweetheart, Ben. 

They camped that night upon the spot, 

Aud sheltered from the cold, 
The rescuers their cares forgot 

As Ben his story told. 

How when they found their vessel flown 
They turned them from the north. 

And o'er those dreary fields unknown 
Had started bravely forth. 

How cold and hunger sapped their strength. 

And they began to lag; 
So that they built a hut at length 

And raised a signal flag. 

And there through gloomy months and drear 
They watched and hoped and prayed. 

But nothing human came anear 
Till Darrell brought them aid. 

And when John Darrell told how he 

Had happened there to come. 
And how he chanced their flag to see, 

With wonder thev were dumb. 



254 



JOHN DARRELL'S QUEST 

Part VI — ^The Return 

Next morn, the sick on sledges placed, 

They started on their way. 
And wearily their steps retraced 

To where their vessel lay. 

Ah, who can tell the joy they knew 

When safe once more on board! 
The hearty welcome of the crew 

They thought a fit reward. 

Aud now the ice-fields cracked amain, 

And watery lanes appeared; 
John Darrell took the wheel again 

And south the vessel steered. 

And free at last from crunching floes. 

Her course was set for home; 
Her dripping bowsprit sunk and rose 

As swift she cut the foam. 

But now John Darrell slowly failed. 

And as they homeward run. 
His sun-browned features softly paled. 

Like skies when day is done. 

'Twas plain that Death had struck their chief. 

Who oft had dared his might. 
And they must watch in helpless grief 

Their hero's final fight. 

And still the struggle lengthened out 

While nearer port they drew. 
Until they hoped with hearts devout 

To bring him safely through. 



255 



JOHN DARRELL'S QUEST 

They sighted land — it showed a speck 

Above the ocean foam. 
They brought John Darrell's couch on deck 

And bade him welcome home. 

John Darrell gazed with weary eyes, 

Then turned his head away 
To where the sun bedecked the skies 

With many a brilliant ray. 

And as their glory slowly died, 

He started from his bed; 
"I see a flag! they're found!" he cried, 

And on the deck fell dead. 




THE END OF THE TRAIL 



2^6 



APPENDIX 




TO AN OLD DAGUERREOTYPE 

Poor little kid, your frowning face 
Has often roused my wonder; 

What could have so disturbed Your Grace? 
Your brow is black as thunder. 

You didn't want your picture "took" 

I see as plain as telling; 
The stern resentment of your look 

Is fixed beyond expelling. 

Was it your waist that plagued you so? 

(Clothes oft are wrath arousers) 
The ruffled collar with its bow? 

Or very manly trousers? 

It may have been you didn't like 
Your hair brushed back so neatly; 

I know that something didn't strike 
Your budding taste completely. 

To speculate is useless toil; 

Whate'er caused your condition, 
I'm glad today it didn't spoil 

Your lovely disposition. 



258 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

IT has been said that "who often reads will sometimes 
wish to write," and I fear the scribbling propensity which 
made possible the present volume has no deeper inspira- 
tion than this, as it was an early fondness for works of poetry 
and the constant reading of them that undoubtedly led to my 
attempting to express myself in rhyme. 

I took the fever in boyhood. Often, while my companions 
were playing pirates or training for Indian fighters, I was 
twanging my feeble lyre to a parody on the latest popular 
song or celebrating in weak heroicomics the incidents of some 
youthful escapade. 

While still of tender age, a change in the family fortunes 
made it necessary for me to hunt a job, and I became "devil" 
in a printing office. This step greatly aggravated my malady, 
for no sooner had I " learned the case," or the art of type 
composition, than I began printing my immature effusions 
and inflicting copies on suffering friends and relatives. 

In early manhood, a trip to my birthplace and a visit to 
the abandoned schoolhouse where I first plucked fruit from 
the tree of knowledge, led to the penning of the following : 

THE OLD SCHOOLHOUSE 

Aye, still it stands, the schoolhouse old, 

Beneath its leafy screen, 
Though many years have o'er it rolled 

Since last I left the scene. 

What change is here! Storms and decay 

Have sadly marred the place. 
And tangled vines now hide the way 

My feet were wont to pace. 

I pass within the creaking door, 

By lock no longer bound, 
And tread again the dusty floor. 

And wake the echoes round. 

And long I gaze, as in a dream. 

On the old room's remains. 
In the fading bars of light that stream 

Through broken window panes. 

These dim old walls have held me oft 

In boyhood's careless day; 
At Wisdom's riches then I scoffed, 

And thought of naught but play. 

Ah! memory flies on rapid wing 

Back to that vanished time; 
Again I hear the schoolbell ring 

Its old familiar chime. 

259 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

And every schoolmate boyhood knew 

Troops in and takes his place, 
And at his desk the master, too. 

Presents his dreaded face. 

And busy tongues I hear that strive 

In conning lessons o'er; 
Like hum of bees within a hive, 

Or water's far-off roar. 

Till the master's well-used cane is heard, 

As he raps with angry will, 
And thunders, "Quiet!" At the word 

The noisy hum is still. 

It was but fancy; none are here; 

They all long since have flown; 
And I within the schoolroom drear 

In silence stand alone. 

And where are they, my boyish friends? 

Where lie their paths today? 
What shape of fortune now attends 

Their manhood's broader way? 

To that far country some have crossed, 

Their journey early done; 
In life's stern battle some have lost. 

And some have bravely won. 

The sun sinks low behind the hills. 

The schoolroom darker grows. 
And far away the whippoorwills 

Proclaim the daylight's close. 

And, sad at heart, I turn away 

And shut the creaking door; 
Then gloom and silence hold their sway 

About the place once more. 

These lines were a slight advance upon my previous per- 
formances and I showed them to Mr. T. J. Wentworth, an 
editor with whom I was acquainted, and he printed them 
(free of charge) in his paper, Every Saturday, a Baltimore 
publication that once enjoyed considerable popularity. 

This injudicious proceeding fixed my business, so to speak. 
I became a confirmed scribbler and began bombarding the 
papers and magazines with the productions of my pen, most 
of which were very properly "declined with thanks." 

The first piece for which I received real money was pub- 
lished in the columns of Life. I got |5.oo for it; here it is: 

260 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

A RETROSPECT 

How many times, dear heart, have we 

Together roamed beside the sea 

When life was young and skies were blue, 
And all the world was young and new. 

And it was rapture just to be! 

And we have traced o'er dale and lea 
The paths that led to Arcady, 

And lingered there the long hours through, 
How many times? 

And though our ways, by "fate's decree," 

Since then have severed been and free, 
I still have kept your memory true 
Through all these changing years, while you. 

Ah, sad coquette, have thought of me — 
How many times? 

Other acceptances followed, and a few years later I gath- 
ered the best of my verses into a book and put them forth 
under the title, "At the Foot of Parnassus." The Baltimore 
Sun^ commenting on the volume, said : 

"The natural impulse is to say a good word for those who sing, as Mr. 
Duvall frankly phrases it, 'at the foot of Parnassus'. . . . Fortunately the 
verses before us have merits that lift them above the silly and morbid. They 
have a certain originality. They are good and pure and earnest. Let us accept 
them as they are — be kind to their faults and give some welcome when they 
sing even of the common things of our own everyday common life." 

One of the pieces commented on favorably was this 

BALLADE OF STRIVING 

In an ever changing show 

Moves the throng of passers-by. 
Proud and humble, swift and slow, 

Every state you may descry; 

Dauntless youth with courage high, 
Cautious age with sober pace. 

Side by side for favors try — 
This is Fortune's open race! 

Late and early on they go, 

Firm of lip and stern of eye, 
Summer's heat nor Winter's snow 

Even turns their course awry; 

Daring all beneath the sky. 
Forward to the goal they chase. 

Each resolved to win or die — 
This is Fortune's open race! 

Little time for rest they know, 

Little time to laugh or sigh; 
Naught they fear but overthiow 

Ere the longed-for prize be nigh; 

261 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

"Faster, faster," runs the cry, 
"Speed's the only saving grace!" 

Toiling, panting, on they fly — 
This is Fortune's open race ! 

ENVOY 

Let us ponder, you and I, 

Ere with these we take our place. 
Will the gain the loss supply? 

This is Fortune's open race! 

Shortly after this I became connected with the International 
Syndicate, a Baltimore concern furnishing feature matter to 
newspapers. Here my scribbling abilities had full scope. Fre- 
quently drawings would be sent in by artists without any text 
or explanatory title, and to these I would have to fit a joke 
or story in rhyme. Here is an example : 

The Lady Fair and the Captain Brave 




CAPTAIN may I trusi your boat?" the fair young lady cried. 
"There ain't no slauncher ship afloat," the Captain Brave rephed. 
"And do you steer her all alone across this awful sea?" 
"i)hf knows no guidin but my own and all her crew is me." 
And may I safely make the trip, nor feel the slightest fear?" 
I ve never lost a life or ship since I've been sailin' here." 
And will you slop and let me fish when on the water blue?" 
I'll anchor anywhere you wish and hold her till you're through." 
Then passage I will take, I think," declared the prudent maid. 
Good," said the Qaptain, "In a wink I'll have the anchcr weighed." 
Out on the deep they voyaged then, fair maid and gallant tar; 
The artist saw them, took his pen, and drew them — here they are. 



262 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

One contributor used to send in little silhouette pictures 
for the Children's Page, for which I had the task of supply- 
ing verses. These are representative specimens : 



A Tough Job The Ride for Life 




I NEVER thought it would be hard 
To push a mower 'bout 
■ Until I went to mow our yard. 
And then I found it out. 

Pop said he'd give me fifty cents 

I f I would mow it fine ; 
I sized h up from fence to fence 

And said "That fifty's mine." 

But, gee ! I ntver knew our place 

Had such aiot of ground. 
It seems a mile or more of space 

Each time I go around. 

It goes along so awful slow 

And ain't a bit of fun. 
The first part will grow up, I know. 

Before the last is done. 




H 



E'S seated in the saddle. 

His lady, safely placed; 
Now good old horse ske- 
_ daddle, 
TTiere's desperate need for haste. 



The cruel Indians follow. 

With yells that reach the sky; 

Up hill and down the hollow 
The daring riders fly. 

The fort lies far before them. 
Where they may safety win. 

While closer 'round and o'er them 
They hear the savage din. 

Then on, brave steed, nor falter. 
But bear your precious freight 

Till glad hands sieze your halter 
Within the fort's strong gate. 



Aside from pieces like these, I contributed regularly to the 
Comic Section, the Children's Page, Puzzle Column and va- 
rious special features which were run from time to time. 

Probably my earliest contributions and the ones which con- 
tinued longest were the daily verses I furnished for the hidden 
pictures of W. Charles Tanner. These were of great variety, 
but generally of a humorous nature, with a hint as to the ob- 
ject to be looked for incorporated in the lines. 



^63 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Here are some random selections, showing the general style 
of the verses that accompanied the pictures: 




As I have said, this series was of great variety. There were 
pictures for holidays and special occasions, while noted person- 
ages and current happenings were treated of whenever their 

264 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

importance warranted. The reproductions herewith will show 
what widely different subjects verses had to be furnished for. 




re«liog brought. 



One year we subsituted a series of pictures of Baseball Stars, 
for which I supplied an accompanying rhyme, touching on the 
player's must prominent characteristic or celebrating some not- 
able achievement. 



265 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

The examples reproduced below will serve to show how 
the baseball stars were handled. 




266 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

To avoid monotony in this series, every other day a limer- 
ick or humorous verse was run in, as here shown. 




THE ABSORBING TOPIC, 
■ome matter great and hlffti 



? sadly Bbook har b«ftd— 



enraged, "Confoum 



267 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Here are some of the verses about the Baseball Stars: 

G. C. ALEXANDER 

Though you may not be a conqueror Hke him whose name you bear, 
Nor attain the high position of the presidential chair, 
When it comes to playing baseball it's a great man that you are; 
Grover Cleveland Alexander, we salute you as a star. 

RUBE MARQUARD EDDIE WALSH 

Rueben, Rueben, we've been thinking. When we hear the rooters yelling 
Pondering o'er this weighty sum: And scores favor the White Sox, 

Will that nineteen clean straight victories Then we know without the telling 
Be surpassed in years to come? That Big Eddie's in the box. 

CHARLES S. DOOIN 

There's a certain Mr. Dooin, who's a catcher mighty fine — 
Faith, there's always something doin' in his play; 

He will prove your sure undoin' if base-stealin's your design, 
For there's no subduin' Dooin anyway. 

JOE WOOD 

Although brief yet his career, 'twould be hard to find his peer, 
For when tried in tightest places he makes good; 

If the whole team lost their "sand," he would take the game in hand 
And would win it by himself, Joey would. 

And here are some of the limericks and other verses: 

A COMMON COMPLAINT 

•'Oh, doctor," moans the worried wife, "my husband's in some awful trouble' 
His sleep with horrid dreams is rife, he talks of hit and steal and double.'; 
"Nay," said the doctor, "be at ease, attacks like this need not affright us; 
'Tis but a mild form of disease and widely known as Baseballitis." 

NOT SPEED ENOUGH TOO MUCH WIND-UP 

Said the coach, a sarcastic-tongued soul, A pitcher who had a great ball, 

To a youngster who failed of his goal. Prepared to give batters a fall; 

"Remember this, son. When he found to his fright 

When the bases you run. He was wound up so tight 

You're not taking an afternoon stroll." That he couldn't project it at all. 

AT THE END OF HIS ROPE 

"Gee! I would like to see the game," the youngster said, "but what's the use? 
I've worked off sickness, moved, been lame, and tried most every old excuse. 
If I ask off the boss gets soie, he'll turn me down. I know, and flat; 
I'd bury grandma just once more, if I thought he would stand for that." 

A TOUGH POSITION RUNNING YET 

A player at second, called Rob, The score it was twenty to three, ^^ 

Had a base runner light on his knob; And a spectator cried"Hully Gee!" 

Said he feeling the sore. As man after man 

When the mixup was o'er, O'er the plate gaily ran, 

"This sure is a strenuous job." "Is it ball or foot-racing I see?" 

THE boss' TURN 

"No, save your breath," the master said, unto the lad about to speak, 
"I know you've got an aching head, and that you're feeling awful weak; 
But here I think you'll have to stay, so lay your illness on the shelf, 
A double header's on today, and I'll be sick, I think, myself." 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 



Seasonable cartoons were frequently introduced in the comic 
feature page and for these I would write a rhyming comment. 




JIISS SANTA CLAUS. 



WITH joyful heart, on dainty toes, 
Her eyes ashine, each cheek a rose, 
Well laden with her presents goes 
The Christmas Maid. 

IN Santa's task she claims a share, 
And bears her gifts with thoughtful 
care, 
While Love attends her everywhere 
A willing aid. 



Santa take a friendly tip, 
Unless you want to lose your grip, 
Don't let her make another trip 

In all your days. 
"OOR she's a vision, so complete, 
•'• So captivating, fair and sweet, 
That she has got you surely beat 
A hundred ways. 



269 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

After America had entered the war we got out a series of 
pictures and verses under the title, "Over Here," in which was 
set forth the progress of war work on this side; also patriotic 
appeals, in humorous vein, for conservation and bond buying. 



|{i THEL 5HlPyAI205 
we. A(2E. POUNDING 
B0AT5 Ih 5HAPE. 

,ri$on sTEeii TO 
5T£n, 

AriD THE. 15\VELT£E 

15 JOU/NDIMG. 
kAljee.\/JlLLIAM'5 

ReooiCM. 





^flio THE. Thrift ^tamp to 

THE-QL/ACTtia. 
"If VOC/ WANT TO iwe. 

YOUR, face: 

TELRRIFIC 

5LAUGHTE.K 

■Mow,5 THE. Tine and 

HERE'S THE place'" 








The: 5ooM£r. that wc 


-^ 


^^\ 


rcalize: that 


s 




" fboo WILL WIN THE. War' 
"^ And cut the floor 

it^a, IN EVCRVTHING 


I 




R WE BAKE- 

The: 5oot\€R. will we 
BEAT the Hon AMD 
COOO old TinCi. RESTORE 


"-i^ 


' — ^^ 


And get the Pies like 
'MoTHee. 056O TO make! 



QN THE FARhS Wt'RL 

(?EAPtMG, 
LE5T OUR FOOD 

PPOOUCTIor^ 5LUMf3 
AMD THE BOYiAND 

GlPLt) ARE KELPIhG 
BUG5 ArSD WORf^J, 
UPOfS THE JUr-iP, 



X>UIMG, 



^^|\_^„*,- 





TlHEl CASH THAT 
yOJ IN BOND3 
INVENT 
n A Ices VOUA 

5oLoiefe. WITH 

the: BEiT 
VboR CtouARi ^RUE 
TO riRE A GUN 
Or 5HAPE THE shell- 
that BAN6.i A J. 
HoN! 




LET'5 not 5TART 


1 is 


THE FURNACE ^ 


GOirSG '^ 


^\^iiih 


At THE FIRST CHILL 

Air that blows, 


\^^^ 


But JAUECOftLii 


^(^ ^•^Utlff 


FOR OV£R-=i^W 


:=r-<BPBB>W/ 


THROWING r^ 
rPEEDOM'i { 


~i^&^ 


eLOODV MIIMDEO 


'i y^f*^ 


FOES 





270 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Some of the verses illustrated in the "Over Here" series: 

If you for buttons do not care or think such symbols vain._ 
A bunch of war stamps will declare your sentiments as plain. 
And if you are the quiet kind, too dignified to cheer, 
A bond will make a noise you'll find that everyone can hear! 

When German propagandists come 'Tis good to know that though beyond 
And start their specious lies. The seas the kaiser makes his camp. 

The surest way to strike them dumb We still may bang him with a bond 
Is straight between the eyes. Or swat him through a savings stamp! 

Don't you feel your bosom swell at the tale the cables tell.'' 
Don't you want to go outside and throw your hat up high and yell? 
Ain't you glad you gave your mite, when you read about the fight 
Our soldier boys are putting up for Liberty and Right? 

Come into the garden, Maude, Let's write some letters — now — today, 

Also Johnny, Jane and Claude. To our brave soldiers far away; 

Things are ripe and need our care; Their part is on the battle-line; 

Let's get busy everywhere. To cheer them up is yours and mine. 

The Red Cross folk in stricken lands have duties manifold. 
The sick are healed, the hungry fed, and clothed against the cold. 
So don't keep your discarded things nor let your dollars shirk, 
But help the noble army that repairs the German's work! 

There was a man in our town and he was wondrous wise, 
When asked to trade his U. S. Bond he showed extreme surprise. 
"What, trade my bond for worthless stuff! not on your life," said he. 
And straightway bought a second one to keep it company. 

Uncle Sam & Co. looks fine The old preserving kettle now 

As a corporation sign. Has entered in the war. 

Who's the Co? Why you and I, And with the fruit of vine and bough, 

Made so by the bonds we buy. The housewife swells her store! 

O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light. 
The millions of workers a-going to fight? _ 
In camp, mill and workshop they're making a din 
That is already heard in the courts of Berlin. 

Old Mother Hubbard she went to the cupboard 

And saw that it looked rather bare. 
She said, "I'm no hoarder, I mind the food order 

And buy and use only what's fair. 

News from the battle front tells how Let's not think a traitor's dwelling 

Our boys have changed the Hun; In each man of German name. 

We read. "Fritz doesn't goose-step now Oft, despite the diflFerent spelling. 

We've taught him how to run." Schmidt and Smith are one in aim. 

When war is done and things once more are stable, 
Should you be asked your part in the affray, 

You will be glad to answer, if you're able, 

"I purchased war bonds." Make it true today. 

271 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

A projected series, but which died a-bornin' owing to the 
war, was the following. The idea was to issue a daily verse, 
with humorous illustration, somewhat like those in the Tan- 
ner puzzle pictures. 



IT PAYS TO ADVERTISE" 



A MODERN MIRACLE 

A lady lost a valued ring, and hunted everywhere, 

But could not find the precious thing, and gave up in despair, 

Until a friend more worldly wise said, "That's no way to act, 

You'll get it if you advertise, I know it for a fact." 

She took the hint, our columns sought without an hour's delay; 

A worthy man who'd found it brought her keepsake home next day. 

With grateful thanks and liberal fee, once more she clasped her prize- 

"How wonderful!" she cried, "I see It Pays to Advertise." 



A WISE STUDENT 

A student wished a room and board, a home-like place and plain, 

Such as his pocket could afford, but tramped about in vain. 

He thought it over long and hard, then came to us in haste; 

His modest wishes in a card he in our column placed. 

A lot of answers quickly came; he chose one from the rest. 

Went to the place, approved the same, and straight became a guest. 

Well satisfied, that night he wrote among his maxims wise: 

"When you want anything, I note It Pays to Advertise." 



THE KEEN MERCHANT 

A merchant had a lot of stuff that went off very slow. 

Though it was good, with worth enough, it somehow didn't go; 

One day he had a brilliant thought, and straight, with judgment sage, 

A clever ad to us he brought and took up half a page. 

Next day an eager, buying throng besieged his busy store 

And gladly purchased all day long the goods refused before. 

And when his head clerk showed his joy and praised him to the skies. 

He said, "Remember this, my boy. It Pays to Advertise." 



THE QUICKEST WAY 

A chap who had reverses met, to sell his car essayed; 
The friends he tried expressed regret, but none it seemed could aid 
Said one "Why dont you try an ad.^ There's someone I've no doubt, 
Who would of such a chance be glad if you would point it out." 
"Well said!" declared the worried man; to us he came around; 
The second day his notice ran, a purchaser he found. 
With cash on hand for present need he felt his spirit rise; 
In gratitude he cried, "Indeed, It Pays to Advertise " 



272 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 



HE GOT RESULTS 

A party tired of business strife desired to quit the race, 

He yearned to lead the simple life and sought a country place. 

Keen agents brought him plan and plot and photos by the score; 

To all he only said, ''That's not just what I'm looking for." 

Despairing then, he sought us out and placed a dozen lines, 

Which quickly brought a change about and aided his designs. 

His home he found, and well content, now dwells 'neath peaceful skies, 

And still commends this sentiment, "It Pays to Advertise." 

IT NEVER FAILS 

A business man who had a plant, a valued product made; 
And ofttimes he grew petulant o'er his restricted trade; 
"If I could find a man," said he, "with capital to spare, 
I'd double my capacity and splendid profits share. 
Perhaps an ad would help," he mused — a card for him we set: 
A party with some cash unused saw it and soon they met; 
They joined, the business grew forsooth, the deal each satisfies, 
And both are converts to the truth, "It Pays to Advertise." 

CONVINCING PROOF 

A weary hostess sighed, "Oh, dear, I'm at my wit's end quite; 
I want some novelty to cheer and please my guests tonight. 
They'll look to me for something new, at least not tried before. 
The commonplace will never do — my! planning is a bore." 
She took her paper up to read, her eyes fell on an ad, 
"Why here's the very thing I need," she cried in accents glad; 
"I'll send an order off at once, 'twill be a real surprise." 
Which ought to prove e'en to a dunce It Pays to Advertise. 

The examples given above were the first week's copy and 
the service was planned to run six weeks, touching on the value 
of advertising from different standpoints. It is questionable if 
the verses could have been varied sufficiently or the interest 
retained for so long a term. Anyway it didn't get a tryout. 

The foregoing pages will serve to indicate the nature and 
extent of my Syndicate work, which covered a period of 
about a dozen years. Most of it would be meaningless without 
its accompanying picture, hence it was not possible to give it 
space here, even if it had been desirable. 

Of the longer pieces that I contributed to the Comic and 
Children's pages the best of them have already been printed in 
the body of this book along with my other scribblings. 

This constitutes all of my output that I care to preserve. 
Considering that I have not made writing a profession, the 

273 



A SCRIBBLER'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

quantity is considerable; as to its quality I leave the reader 

to judge. Naturally, it will always have more value for me 

than for anyone else, since 

"None but an author knows an author's cares, 
Or Fancy's fondness for the child she bears." 

In conclusion I would say that the making of these verses 
has brought me a great deal of pleasure and some profit and I 
do not regret the hours I have spent over them. 

C. T. DUVALL 

305 North Calhoun Street 
Baltimore, October, 1919 







THE END 



274 



